Coraline: Mal du Siecle
by Mechanical Lullaby
Summary: It's been twenty years, and Coraline Jones has grown up and moved away from her past. But when things start getting supernatural all over again, she's forced to return and confront what she's been denying herself: that the Beldam is alive and kicking.
1. Chapter 1

Coraline didn't much fancy going back out again.

She'd been home no more than thirteen seconds before that constant, shrill beep of attention had greeted her from across the room, the red digits on her answering machine flashing. It didn't do much for her migraine.

She slammed the front door closed and carelessly tossed her handbag over the clean white sofa, lamely swiping at the Play button on the machine as she did so. The comforting robotic voice informed her that she had received six messages as she waltzed into the open kitchen and switched the kettle on.

"Message received: today, at: two, thirty-three, pee-em."

"Coraline! Hey!" The warm, strong, masculine voice sung from the little grey module, "Hope you had a great trip! Just calling to say I might be home a little earlier, so can you leave me out some Chinese or something? Bye, love you!"

"Message received: today, at: two, fifty-seven, pee-em."

"Cooorraalliiinneee!" his voice faltered on that slightly flat C - Coraline giggled as she dropped a teabag into her mug. He always did that. "Just making sure you weren't home already and just avoiding me. Turns out I do have to stay a little late. Don't worry about that Chinese. Love you!"

Coraline tipped the steaming water from the kettle into her mug and crossed into the living room, idly stirring her brew with a silver teaspoon. She was vaguely listening to the other messages on the machine (received: yesterday, at: three, oh-six, pee-em / "Hey, baby! Welcome home!"), but more focused on finally being able to kick off those dreadful black heels her publicist made her wear, and let her toes greet that welcoming softness of the shag carpet at the base of the lounge suite.

She looked at the window, and gazed across the drab, gray cityscape stretched beneath her apartment. She'd been here more than five years, but she'd still not got used to the rain. It was rather depressing, she often observed.

Coraline sipped at her strong cup of tea as the machine alerted her that her string of messages had come to a close. So, instead of going through and ringing back all those people (well, mostly just Robin) like she was supposed to, her long, slender fingers scrambled across the soft, cool leather and found the remote control that activated the rather pompously large television that stood in the corner of the room. At once the bright animated colours spread across the blackness of the screen; some stupid ad about something called 'Snuggies'.

Coraline flicked.

A children's cartoon: five menacing blobs, fake smiles plastered on their Styrofoam faces, dancing along and singing about parties in tummies.

Coraline flicked again. The phone rang.

The exasperated woman swept her mop of short, shiny black hair off her face and let a loud sigh of exasperation escape from between her lips. The telephone on the coffee table behind the sofa vibrated and sung for her attention, letting out two wavering calls in short succession, taking a breath, then letting out two more. Coraline reached her right hand up behind her and blindly felt her way around the various bits and bobs, until her fingers landed on the receiver.

"Hey, you're home!"

Coraline huffed good-naturedly. "Hulloh, Robin."

"Hey babe. How was the signing?"

"Exhausting. I really wish that I hadn't written that stupid book."

"Awwh, don't say that! If you hadn't written it, you wouldn't have met me."

"Yeah… I guess you're right. Any chance you're coming home? I'll order us some Chinese."

"Sorry hun, there's no chance of me getting out of here before ten, at the earliest. But leave me some out, if you do order in."

"I'll be sure to. You have fun now."

Robin chuckled half-heartedly. "Doubt that. Oh!" Coraline jerked back in her seat, spilling a little of her tea on her jeans. Robin's sudden cry had startled her; she mustn't be that awake at all.

"What?" she asked.

"That place called the office today. Said you weren't picking up at home."

"What place?"

"You know, the one with the gardens and stuff. The one you called up about the wedding. They've got an opening in June."

If it hadn't been for her nearly full cup of tea, Coraline would've jumped onto the carpet and kicked the sofa over in happiness. But she settled for a loud exclamation of joy instead, that sent quivers of radiation down the telephone lines and almost deafened poor Robin on the other end.

"Are you serious!?"

"Yeah. Too soon?"

"N… no… I dunno… we can talk about it later…"

"If you're not sure about this…"

"No! No, no! I do want to marry you. I'm sure."

"Hah, what a relief. Anywho, I've got to get back to work and drain the blood out of my ears. Have a great night. Love you."

The phone crackled, and a dull, monotonous set of beeps followed. Coraline could not contain that goofy, childish grin that was now creeping outwards from her cheeks. It was as if she was eleven again, planning her wedding. Eleven… that's when... no, no, the therapist had told her to channel it out, it wasn't real, none of it was real, and it was just a wacky idea… but hey, it hadn't been all bad. She wouldn't have been able to afford such an awesome house without it.

Coraline sighed and threw the cordless phone onto the other unit of the sofa, instead of tucking it back into its cradle like Robin had expressed she should on so many occasions. Finally acknowledging her cup of tea, and her comfortable sofa, and the large diamond ring perched on her finger, and the blaring colour of the news report, Coraline slowly drew herself back into the long, droning world that was her adult life.

"… And in other news, the hunt continues for Molly Malloy, who disappeared into seemingly thin air from her home in Ashland, Oregon."

Coraline had heard that. And suddenly, she was fixated upon the woman in her crisp white coat, wearing a stern, stony expression. She began to speak again, but her face could not be seen: instead, on the screen, was a picture of a tall, rickety old pink country house.

"It has been almost two weeks since the disappearance of nine-year-old Molly, and not a trace can be found of her. Research into the history of the home shows that there have actually been three separate previous disappearances of children; all aged between the years of six and eleven. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Molly Malloy, please call this number."

A white slide replaced that of the old house - Coraline's house – displaying a combination of stern black numbers. But Coraline was hardly paying attention by now. She had long since retreated into her mind, still staring blankly at the screen, but not registering anything before her eyes. Everything that had happened… twenty years ago… it was all so faint before, just her wacky dream, just her novel, just her perfectly fictional best-seller… but it was coming back. The house… the garden… the ghost children… the buttons.

But no… the Beldam couldn't be back. Coraline had witnessed the splintered mechanical fingers fall to the bottom of the well, the stiff black key tumbling with them, and she had heard the haunting 'splosh' as the bundle had hit the water. No, she'd seen it, she'd heard it, it had happened. But… there was that cloud. That dark, foreboding cloud silently drifting through Coraline's memory… that wasn't good. There was that uncertainty looming, and despite how much she told herself that She couldn't be back… she couldn't believe it. She was lying to herself.

Without a second thought, Coraline launched herself from the sofa, placing her half-full mug onto the coffee table and switching off the television. She looked around for her shoes – not those horrible black heels that made her feel so fake – and rested her gaze upon the scruffy red sneakers tucked under the coat rack. As she tugged them on over her black stockings, Coraline silently thanked herself for not unpacking from her book-signing tour, and also for staying true to herself and keeping a pair of jeans in amongst the suits and skirts.

She'd rushed through the door and tucked her key under the Japanese lily in the pot that stood proudly beside the doormat (it read: Here lies 'Coraline and Robin') and waited impatiently as the elevator chuffed down from the top level where she lived, down to the busy streets of New York, which she secretly despised, and she stood, angrily hailing a taxi, as the sudden appearance of rain (that foreboding uncertainty) beat down upon her, plastering her ebony hair to her forehead. At last, a bright yellow vehicle stopped before her and she clambered in, puffing indignantly.

"Where to?" the shifty-looking guy asked her gruffly.

"Airport." Was all she had to offer.

* * *

"Five hours?! There's nothing sooner?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Jones, but that's the quickest way there. Shall I book you a seat?"

Coraline nodded angrily. Here she stood, here she'd waited for thirty minutes in the queue, and she had to wait yet another five hours until she could board a plane to take her back to Oregon. The blonde girl who sat behind the desk tappity-tapped away at her keyboard, being especially careful not to let her acrylic nails graze the firm plastic. Finally, the printer buzzed and whirred, and an oblong of rigid board ejected itself. The blonde girl tore it off by the pads of her fingers, and handed it to Coraline, who snatched it away. She tucked it into her pocket and made to exit the queue, but the blonde girl cleared her throat loudly. Coraline froze, then spun around.

"Sorry to bother you Miss Jones, but you do have quite a bit of time…" the blonde girl reached under the desk and retrieved an A-3 sized novel, about two and a half inches thick, and slid it across the shiny marble top. Coraline stared down at it, and then back up into the hopeful, yet remarkably blank eyes of the blonde girl. "Could you please sign this? I'm a huge fan."

Coraline put on her brave, professional face and withdrew a silver pen from within her shoulder bag, and peeled back the hard cover of her book. Her round eyes flicked up to the girl's nametag, and she scrawled her default-setting message onto the title page:

'Cindy,

Enjoy the read.

- Coraline Jones'

... Then snapped the cover shut and handed it to Cindy, who smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much!" she exclaimed. "Enjoy your flight."

"I will," Coraline said, her dry voice riddled with lies. She hitched her suitcase up onto the conveyor belt, tucked her pen back into the deep, dark abyss of her bag, and strolled off into the terminal's mini mall. Five hours and counting.

Coraline weaved her way through the clusters of people, not exactly enjoying it, but enthralled regardless by the clash of foreign tongues that met her ears amongst the frenzy and bustle of the travelling crowd. As she passed the book store, she cupped one thin hand over her face in order to conceal it, for a tall, glossy poster of her cheeky grin was plastered in the display window, proudly advertising her literary success.

She stopped in the centre of the food court, searching her surroundings for something that vaguely resembled food. Instead, she withdrew her wallet in the queue at the vegetarian place, and got herself a cheap, bland salad.

As she sat amongst the crowds of foreign people, head down over her dinner, Coraline remembered something. Robin. She hadn't bothered to call him. She whipped out her phone, and made to dial his cell phone. But then erased it. She wasn't in the mood for is prying questions, her agenda going under his scrupulous lawyer microscope. Instead, she dialled her home number.

"Hi, Robin. I'm so sorry, but… there's… family troubles, back in Oregon, and I've had to go visit. I might be gone a little while, but I left some money out for Chinese for you. You probably won't be able to get a hold of me, so I'll call you when I'm coming home. Love you."

_Lies. Oh, Coraline Jones, you devious, lying, cheating witch. If you didn't notice, you actually just told your fiancé a whole bunch of lies that will eventually come crashing down on you, and then what would your therapist think? You have a knack for lying these days, don't you?_

Coraline desperately tried to mute her conscience as she crunched determinedly on her salad, blocking out her voice of reason with a jaunty tune. She continued this way, denying her mind, until the last of her lettuce was gone, and all that was left were seven little olives, rolling about the bottom of the plastic dish. Coraline had always hated olives. So she levered herself up out of the uncomfortable plastic chair, tossed the remains of her dinner into the bin, and continued on her arduous patrol.

Coraline had wandered into the pharmacy, for lack of anything better to do. She thought she could probably pick up some Aspirin, or something, to ease the thumping caused by her steady neglect of her inner voice. That was, until she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror perched precariously atop the make up stand. She took in her tired eyes, her furrowed, thirty-one-year-old brow, and her neat black bob. It wasn't her real colour; it had never truly returned to that mahogany brown after she started dying her hair at age eleven. But the style, the last thing in her appearance that reminded her she was still her, and not just a shell of a woman plagued by her childhood. That had never changed. But still, she did remind herself of her mother, when she had been young.

Coraline studied the shelves and shelves of beauty products, her radar eyes finally focusing on her intended target. She sauntered over to the shelf of smooth rectangular boxes, and skimmed down them until she reached the tall tubes of those wacky colours all her fans sported. Her fingers curled over one in particular, and she bundled it up into her arms. Then she ascended back up the shelf, and plucked out a box that featured the smiley, carefree bottle-blonde woman. For good measure.

Once her goods were done and payed for, Coraline asked the nearest staff member to direct her to the bathrooms. He told her that there were two located on each floor, and her nearest one was across the food court. But Coraline took the escalator instead, to the very top floor, where barely a soul drifted.

She let herself in to the big, empty white room, and stood over a basin, tugging on the tap, and letting the water warm until it she thought it might scorch her fingers. She ripped some paper towel and soaked it, rolling it up into a wad, and blocked the drain to fill the basin. Then, she emptied her purchases across the counter. She cracked open the bleach, and hastily combed it through her hair. There she sat for all of thirty minutes, playing Tetris, until the alarm she had set sounded, echoing in the deserted bathroom. Coraline snapped on the cheap plastic gloves that had come nestled in with the dye, and craned over the sink, letting the warm water engulf her stinging mop of hair. She massaged her scalp slowly, enjoying the quiet peacefulness of the empty bathroom, and knowing that there were thousands of people beyond this room below her. Once the water ran clear, Coraline tossed her wet bob back, and stared at herself. It hadn't gone blonde, more a coppery colour. But it would do just fine.

Coraline reached for the other bottle that lay strewn amongst the mess she'd made in the public restroom. She squeezed out its contents and covered her hair with it, making sure she got all her roots, her tips, and – with the aid of her palm-sized mirror – the back. She'd always got her mother to do the back before, but now Coraline was a big girl, and she could dye her hair all by herself.

She sat crossed-legged in the stall furthest from the door, perched on top of the toilet, thumbs twiddling away on the keypad of her phone, biting her lower lip in concentration as she attempted to line up the squiggly red block with all the others, thus earning her a mass amount of points. She played through her half-hour alarm, and the alarm that came ten minutes after that, choosing to leave the colour to seep into her roots for a more violent shade. Finally after an hour of 80s arcade fun, Coraline tucked her phone back into her bag and proceeded to rinse out the colour.

And what stood before her now was no Ms Coraline Jones, aged thirty-one, dry-witted author extraordinaire with Robin the Lawyer perched on her arm. Instead, when she looked in the mirror, she saw only Coraline Jones, aged eleven, plucky wannabe-explorer, whose low maintenance bob sported a ferocious shade of electric blue.


	2. Chapter 2

If she had even paused to remember what Ashland was really like, Coraline probably wouldn't have bothered coming. Okay, that wasn't entirely true, but she'd have at least gone out and bought herself some more appropriate weather gear. As the rain cascaded like bullets onto the windscreen of the cab and was nudged away promptly by the noisy windscreen wipers, the blue-haired heroine fiddled nervously with the small brass key she'd acquired earlier to unlock the door to her sleeping quarters. But that was all the way back in town. And right now, she was travelling at fifty miles an hour up a long, muddy, abysmal road, and through the grey suddenly loomed the Pink Palace.

She hadn't been back in years, twelve years to be exact, but even still, not a single visible detail was different. The faded, chipped pastel paint still adorned most of the building itself. The grounds were still monotonous and depressing. The haunting, twisting forms of those old oak trees still barred the property from the woodland. Nope, not a thing had changed. It was as if Coraline's childhood wonderland had been frozen in time, awaiting her return.

She withdrew her wallet and placed a bundle of notes into the cab driver's rough hand, and muttered something about keeping the change. From beside her she took her big black umbrella, unfastened the catch and prepared to step out into the retired old battlefield beyond the safety of this little metal fortress. As Coraline braved the rain and let her feet touch the sodden earth, she immediately regretted it. She stood there, shielded from the rain by nothing but her colossal black force field, as the cab turned itself around in the entrance to the driveway and sped back down the lane. She watched it go, and as it did she pictured in her mind the last ray of yellow sunshine disappearing amongst the angry gray clouds.

Up the winding driveway she went, careful not to step in the deep, murky puddles that littered the ground. Her canvas sneakers were already soaking, and her white toes wriggled and squelched in her shoe-reservoir. The house loomed ever closer, a shapeless mass rising from the pastel world around it. As Coraline drew closer, unease roared into life deep within her. Her complex, troublesome, lying mind swam with memories of her childhood, of times passed, of feats accomplished… of fears overcome. But such fears, it seemed, weren't lost forever, like an expensive earring down the plughole ("Coraline Jones!!" her mother had hollered. "What have I told you about leaving your jewellery next to the soap!?"). Indeed, some things never die. Like good, and in turn, evil.

Coraline hurried up the old steps that lead to the porch, shaking off her umbrella as she went. She stood it against the chipboard, still open and dripping, as her gloved hands traced the indents in the old front door. It had never been repainted since she'd lived here; the big old chip she'd made below the door handle when she'd hastily aimed her key for the deadlock. She'd been running away from something, she remembered, but she also remembered laughing hysterically as she went, as if it was all a game. But who had she played with…?

Shaking her ferocious blue bob of such trivialities, Coraline gently knocked upon the smooth surface of her old front door. For a moment, there was silence on the other side, but sure enough, there came an unsure, uneven stepping. The handle creaked, and the door swung open. Just a fraction. But Coraline saw those eyes. They were tear-stained, red and swollen, almost hidden amongst the unwashed treacle hair that framed the owner's face. They rolled in their watery sockets, surveying Coraline's shivering frame. When it was clear that this woman wasn't going to say a word, Coraline though it best to introduce herself.

"Hello…" she began softly, "My name is Coraline Jones."

The door swung open just a fraction more, dragging the shadows that shielded the woman's face with it. It was gaunt and deathly white; with tear tracks so often travelled they may as well have been permanent. Then the woman spoke; her cracked pink lips exposing a voice which, Coraline guessed, had been used for nothing but sobbing for quite a while. "Jones… the author?"

"Yeah," Coraline smiled, as warmly as she could manage. "I just came past to offer my condolences. About your daughter, I mean."

The woman snorted pathetically, and almost broke down into a fresh set of salty tears. "You and everyone else who comes knocking," said that harsh, quiet voice. "Now, unless you have any more business here with us, please… just leave us be."

The woman made to slam the front door, but the strong, polished stick of a clearly expensive umbrella withheld the lock from its bed. Mrs Malloy grunted in annoyance, as Coraline continued to speak. "I used to live here; you see…" she said serenely. "I'm truly sorry about Molly, I really am… but would you very much mind if I maybe… had a look around?"

Mrs Malloy stood silent for a moment, before bowing her head, and plunging her face into shadow. The door swung back out, revealing behind her the corridor into Coraline's home.

Mrs Malloy sped up ahead, allowing Coraline to step across the threshold. She did so carefully, respectfully, as if she were treading on a sacred burial ground. And at once, even through the vast amount of new-age trendy furnishings, everything sprung to life with the ghosts of her past. Well, more _eased_, than sprung.

With each step she took, a floorboard would creak, like the way it had done when she was a child. Every light fitting, every tear in the wallpaper, every notch in the banister, was like it always had been. Preserved, pristine, and eerily perfect.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Ms Jones?" Mrs Malloy's voice boomed from within the kitchen. The upper half of Coraline's long, slender body rotated upon its hips, and she heeded the call.

"Yes, please, ma'am," she said, in her strange, alien grown-up tones.

"Alright," came the disembodied response from yonder. "I'll call you down when the kettle's boiled. You just… go be nostalgic."

But Coraline didn't need an invitation. Because, in her mind, it was her house after all. Between these walls, she was a child again. She could freely roam the hallowed halls, explore every nook and cranny… go behind every door.

The lighting in the drawing room was dim and flickering. The light bulb suspended above the scene swung and fizzled in its socket, melted the modes of dust that had settled upon it. Coraline crept into the centre of the room, and stood amongst the furniture. It wasn't hers, which she was sure of, but the way it sat so peacefully in that space gathering dust, it had always belonged there.

Hazel eyes swept across the setting, desperately trying to remember. _Remember… remember what, Coraline? What are you looking for?_ She crossed the room, each step that she took disturbing another community of dust gathered on the rug. Even more billowed out around her like a miniature explosion, as she took a seat on the sofa, let her eyelids draw themselves closed, and she tried to remember. Remember…

_"Dad, what are you doing?" Coraline waltzed into the room, fully equipped for another day of hardcore exploring. There was her father, knelt over a painter's tray of something, furniture strewn about the room. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiled, and pushed his delicate black glasses up his nose._

_"Hey, kiddo," he said. Coraline grinned and skipped over to where he was craned over the skirting board, and examined the gook in the tray. Cocking her head to one side, the young girl pulled a ridiculous, puckered face in disgust. Her father laughed heartily. "It's only plaster." He explained. "Your mom found a leak in our bedroom, and I'm just going around the house and plugging up any other potential flood zones."_

_From his right-hand side, Charlie Jones produced a flat, rusty tool. He slapped some plaster onto the wall and spread it, smoothly and evenly, across the skirting board. "See?"_

_Coraline watched her father move about the room, edging across the skirting board, covering every open crack with the thick, plain concoction. Then he disappeared behind the bureau, and Coraline held her breath. The door. That's where the door was. Oh god, what if it's open? What if She can get through plaster? Daddy no, don't go behind there..!_

_Her breath trembling as she took reluctant, slow steps towards the door. The secret little door, wherein lay the dragon, guarding its treasure. Every muscle up her skinny white arm tensed, then; shrouded in secrecy behind the big, ornate cabinet, came a scraping and a scratching. Then a thumping. It was the other mother, come back to sew the buttons in her eyes, to do away with her parents forever!_

_She lunged forward into the wall, almost slamming into the dresser, and tumbled forward into her father's plaster-covered overalls. She thrashed and squealed, pressing her hands blindly against the wall… only to have her soft hands meet with something wet and cold. But not skin, not metal, and certainly not the tense plastic of buttons. She opened her eyes. There wasn't a door. Only plaster. And there above her, slightly stunned-looking, Coraline's father. He stared down at her with the most puzzled of expressions. Embarrassed, she immediately hoisted herself up._

_"Exploring now. Bye!"_

Coraline Jones snapped into consciousness. She wasn't sure what she had just seen: had it been a dream? A vision? Or just a memory? Either way, the way it had rolled before her drowsy eyes like a moving picture was nothing short of disturbing. It had happened, all right. She was eleven, on the verge of twelve, the day her father sealed the entry-way into Hell. But now she was here, all grown up, and her father wasn't here with his endless building supplies. She just had to make sure. She had to check.

She staggered across the room, leaning on anything and everything for support. She didn't know what had come over her, but she somehow felt… weakened. Dizzy. The room was slightly out of focus, and Coraline struggled to remain standing, let alone walk in a straight line. But eventually, after her eternal expedition, she arrived at the wall.

And she sank down to the floor, dragging her fingernails along the wallpaper.

Then she hit a notch.

And sure enough, there it was. Embedded in the wall, yet standing proudly all by itself. The door. Unmasked, unsealed, and pulsing. And behind it could be heard the lonely howling of the wind, the rustling of trees… and _humming_.

Coraline scrambled to her feet and propelled herself out into the hallway, wrenching the door closed behind her as she did so. She stood there, huffing and heaving, back to the drawing room, her eyelids shielding her from the truth. The inevitable truth. Behind that door, and one more after that, was pure, black evil. And it was strong, and it was old, and it was hungry.

"Ms Jones? Your tea is ready!" and there it was. The proof that the beldam was alive and kicking. The lonely mother, once proud owner of a wonderful child. A little girl who had wanted more, and who was naïve enough to skip down the bright and colourful path to destruction. And now she was gone forever. And Coraline couldn't take it any longer.

Briskly trickling down the stairs, Coraline popped her head around the kitchen door. Mrs Malloy stood there, bending over the sink, lost in a world of her own. Coraline hated that sight; it made her imagine what her own parents may have looked like if she'd been fool enough to let the impostor do away with her. The woman looked up at Coraline, those sad eyes sizing her up. And Coraline felt her own tears, the ones she'd been holding back for almost twenty years, gauging at the insides of her eyes, begging her to be set free.

She burst through the front door and out onto the porch, hitching up her umbrella and descending into the pouring rain. She didn't care if her sneakers got wet. She didn't care if she caught a cold. She just needed to be out of there. She needed to get on the first plane back to New York, back to reality, back to the present. But then, she saw it.

The house. Not quite part of the grounds, but still not part of the woods. Tall and gaunt, but not as grand as the main estate, it resembled something of a storage facility, or a barn house, converted for everyday living. And everything was just as it had been; the weathered boards, the wrought iron railings, the dusty upper window panes. And she advanced.

Coraline stood on the porch, desperately trying to remember. This house was something else she'd revolted from her memory, but it wasn't just the house. There was something else… some one else…

So she rapped on the old gray door. Long and hard, she kept up her constant pace, drumming her knuckles against the wood. The rain behind her had intensified, and she struggled to hear her own mismatched thoughts over the harsh pitter-pattering on the old tin roof. And after about two minutes of solid, eager knocking, Coraline's poor left arm grew weary, and retired.

But she could hear something. Something beyond the rain, but still remarkably close. She peeled back the sopping blue hair from the side of her face, and placed the lock firmly behind her ear, which Coraline then cocked to one side and she listened for the noise beyond the rain. And, sure enough, she could hear it. A less-than-rhythmical clanging, presumably of metal against metal. And it wasn't like the pattering on the roof above her, either. This was heavy metal, like tools and car parts. Car parts.

Once again raising her umbrella high above her head, Coraline plunged into the rain. She subconsciously quickened her pace from a power walk to a light jog; she was, unbeknownst to her active mind, determinedly eager to locate the source of the sound.

She jogged all the way around the house, and out into what was once, upon very close inspection, a back garden. Overgrown animalistic plant life writhed and danced in the wind, obscuring any sort of a path from plain view. The gap in the weeds slithered along the ground, all the way round the garden, and forked every here and there to lead off into the woods, and then back to the house. Coraline followed the trail with her eyes, until the landed upon what she had been searching for.

An old wrecked motor cycle was suspended from the roof, tethered to both the cement below it and the tin above by thick cords of orange rope. Beneath it lay a towel, drenched with oil, and the machine's bowels were scattered across it. And the clanging, banging, scraping of metal: someone, obscured from view by the beaten black front tyre, was tinkering.

Coraline advanced cautiously, taking one step at a time, watching where she put her feet. She didn't trust that she couldn't see her sneakers amongst the grass; anything could be snaking down there, preparing to tighten around her ankles and trip her up. But as she cleared the hazardous trek, and landed on the solid concrete patio, the tinkerer had still not looked up.

"Hello?" she called to the figure. They didn't respond. So she stepped over the towel, and stood rigid, looming over them. "Hello!" Still no answer. Coraline was getting annoyed.

Was this person deliberately ignoring her? Or were they just insanely slow? Either way, Coraline wasn't going to stand out there in the cold and the rain, cooing for their undivided attention for the rest of the day. So she flexed her wet toes inside her shoes, drew her right foot as far back as her knee would allow… and swung it forcefully into the jerk's ankle.

They tumbled over sideways, losing their balance, and hit their head with a loud clunk on the cement. Coraline look down at them, fuming. They wore an old rusty welding mask, completely shrouding their face from view. She couldn't be sure if she'd knocked them out. But then they stirred. The figure rubbed the back of their head slowly with that monstrously huge gloved hand, and got to their feet. In their right hand was a spanner, which they proceeded to drop on the concrete at their feet.

"I told you people!" it bellowed. Its voice was deep and menacing, echoing and rebounding off the inside of the mask. It sent a shiver down Coraline's spine. But, at the same time, flicked a switch in her brain. One that had previously held a door to a memory closed. The voice continued.

"I'm not giving any press comments! Now you can go back to where ever you came from and-" with their free hand, the figure shoved back the welding mask, revealing a face. An actual face. A man's face. And no further words could come out of it.

For any air he had been able to store in his lungs was swiftly deteriorated, and he was knocked back a few paces, and the arms around his waist tightened, and the soft, shiny, sweet-smelling mop of blue hair that he remembered so vividly from his childhood pressed against his chest.

Coraline didn't want to let go. She laced her fingers together around his slim waist, and blindly enjoyed the sharing of his body heat with hers. She could hear his heart beat behind the oil-stained apron: it thumped fast and hard, like it wanted to burst free from the confines of his rib cage and into her open arms. But she let her fingers hang loose, and she drew herself away from the bliss of remembrance. Coraline took a step back, and stared at the man who was once Wybourne Lovat.

If it hadn't been for that god-awful slouch, he would have stood tall at six feet and five inches. A wisp of curly brown hair fell over his face; the rest was swept back behind the welding mask. His head was cocked to one side, his brow furrowed, making Coraline chuckle internally. He may be much taller, and much older, but he still looked just as gormless as he had ever done.

She brought herself forward, and slid a cold, wet hand up to his cheek. He flinched a little at her touch, and she could once again feel his heart pounding away. She wiped the oil and the dirt from his cheek, and traced the outlines of his brow. His breathing intensified, his lips continually pursed together and then relaxed. Coraline simply smiled, and withdrew her hand.

And then the pain hit him, hard and fast, and the momentum of the swift, steady punch in the arm sent him tumbling over to the side. Coraline Jones, drenched to the bone, an obviously expensive raincoat now riddled with smears of oil fluid, stood over him. Her once serene smile now a playfully angry grin, thinly-plucked eyebrows raised almost to her hairline.

"That," she said, "Is for never calling. Jerk wad."

* * *

He sat there, watching her intently, as she sipped at the steaming cup of tea rested in her palms. She really didn't look any different. Okay, so maybe she was a little taller, maybe a little more… well endowed… but she was still her. And it made Wybie kind of nervous. He knew it really shouldn't have; it'd been almost fifteen years since he'd last saw her in the flesh, and hey, they were kids. Teenagers, in fact. Teenagers are meant to feel that way. But not adults. And certainly a flame such as that would have died.

Her radiant, teasing smile appeared like a sunrise over the rim of her mug. Wybie could only just see her pearly white teeth, the way they sparkled and clinked against his grandmother's old bone china. That little childish grin painted across her porcelain face sent a sensational freezing rush throughout his whole entire body, except for his face, which was on fire, and his heart, which hammered incessantly against his ribcage. And then, she spoke. A soft whisper of her charismatic pitch broke the awkward silence that he felt largely responsible for. It was a sound he had not heard in years, but it was welcome.

"So…" she sung, "what have you been doing? I haven't heard anything from you in years. I missed you."

She missed him. Coraline Jones missed him. This was all just too much; his poor old ticker was working overtime. "W-w-w-well… I've not being doing an a-awful lot…" he stuttered, kicking himself internally for letting her resurface that habit he'd buried so long ago. "After gramma died, I got the deed to the Pink P-Palace, and I've just been l-looking after it."

Coraline put down her mug and entwined one arm within the other, folding them into a neat little knot that rested against her chest. She bowed her head, and then looked earnestly at Wybie. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandma," she whispered sympathetically. Her left hand unravelled from her jumble of arms, and slid slowly across the table. It stopped short about half way across, as is hesitating. And then it gently eased itself under Wybie's fingers, and laced its own in with his. Coraline felt a tense shudder run all the way down her childhood friend's arm, and like electricity, it shot up hers, bursting and fraying the nerves the pulsed around her body. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and telepathically drew his gaze to meet hers. It almost faltered; but she held it, strong and fast.

They sat there like that, in total silence, holding that seemingly eternal gaze. There was no need for small talk; Coraline could read Wybie's face just fine. His young, round cheeks, had gone the most abusive shade of beetroot. And that grin that Coraline had folded up and locked away in her top drawer for safe keeping, was spreading like a smooth, cold liquid across his face.

But Wybie noticed something. Something cold against the skin of his hand. And it wasn't just because he was so dangerously overheated that everything felt like an ice block to him, but it wasn't Coraline's skin. It was hard and smooth, like metal. And as much as he hated doing so, he tore his eyes away from hers, and brought them down to survey her hand. And there it was. The biggest smack in the face Wybie had ever received. More powerful than any punch Coraline had ever thrown at him, more painful than any memory of her he'd ever had to recount.

A large diamond ring happily twinkled on her finger.

Quite taken aback at the sudden end to such a surreal moment, Coraline anxiously followed Wybie's gaze, and landed on her engagement ring. Her eyes flickered back up to his face, straining to see anything under the mop of curly brown hair that shrouded his features from view. She craned her neck, tilting her entire head to the left, not looking unlike Wybie's own posture. Underneath the curtain of fringe, she saw that his hilariously red face was now a solid chalk colour and his features displayed nothing of that smile she loved so much. His eyes were sunken, his lips pursed. It looked to Coraline as if her were desperately trying to cling to his manliness while simultaneously heave a bucket-load of tears back into the depths of his anatomy.

Sensing that her eyes were upon him, Wybie took a deep breath and drifted back up to meet her raw undying gaze. What he really wanted to do was tear the ring from her finger and toss it down the old well, but instead, he forced a flat, black and white smile. It had no depth, no contours, and no shadow. It was as fake as the fur his grandmother used to wear. It showed no real emotion whatsoever; it was merely a paper mask, and not a very good one at that. Because the way Coraline was looking at Wybie right now, he just knew that those intense, calculating hazel eyes could see right through the charade. And he thanked her for not pushing it. Because if she did, he probably would have broken.

"Oho, Coraline Jones," he said playfully. He'd support his painful lie of a grin as long as he could bare it. "By what name shall I have to call you?"

Coraline looked at him nervously. She knew him too well to know when he had his poker face on, and this was certainly one of those times. In the years that their friendship had lain forgotten, she still hadn't lost her almost psychic power of Wybie-reading. Somewhere deep within her chest, there was a sudden heaviness, as if an anvil had been sewn to the apex of her heart, and then left unsupported to tangle and compress every other vital organ in her body. It was the most unpleasant thing she had encountered within herself since the incident thirty-six hours prior, when she had been sitting down with her cup of tea, watching the news. This feeling was different, however. It dug down deep, and it wasn't something that shook her brain senseless. It just made her feel somehow betraying. But she decided not to pursue it. It would only make the both of them feel worse. So she put on her own slightly-more-convincing poker face, and braved the question.

"Don't be so cheeky," she said from behind her teeth, stroking Wybie's knuckles with her thumb. "This is a valid lifestyle choice I'm making. I'm settling down."

"You? Settle down?" Wybie threw his head back and shook her ears with dramatic laughter. "Oh p-please. You can't even sit still for more than a half hour. You're still a child."

Coraline raised her eyebrows warningly in Wybie's general direction, who boldly accepted her challenge by raising his own, and seeing her with a mocking grin. Coraline grinned right back, but as she held his face once more, she tightened her fingers as silently laughed at him as his circulation screeched to a grinding halt.

"Owch! Jonesy, that hurts!" he yelped, trying to wrench his hand backwards. Coraline suddenly let go, sending him toppling backwards, his chair clattering and thumping against the old discoloured kitchen tiles.

"Oh spare me, Wybourne!" Coraline called playfully, as his messy brown hair resurfaced from underneath the kitchen table. He peered at her, eyes narrowed, but unable to hold back his grin. The true, honest, raw grin this time.

"I let you beat me up too much."

Coraline chuckled. "I guess I'm not so much of a child, being that I can still kick your sorry ass to a pulp."

"Shut up," Wybie spat.

"Never gonna let you forget who wears the pants in this relationship." Coraline rocked back on her chair and kicked her feet up, leaning the full way back to further establish her subliminal control over the poor boy. Wybie didn't mind.

"Anyway," he dodged around the topic; his masculinity was being called into question, and he really didn't like it. "Where are you staying?"

Coraline rocked back forward in her chair, the front two legs hitting the tiles with a light 'clack'. She looked at Wybie, and began to speak. She immediately regretted it. "Oh, I'm not sure…" _Lies, lies, lies, lies, LIES!_ "I left my luggage back at the tavern. I didn't really want to lug it all the way down here."

Wybie nodded, and thought for a second. "Well, if you really want to," he began, "you can always stay here, up in the guest bedroom. We could watch a movie or something."

A wide, attractive smile spread across the blue-haired girl's face, displaying her two perfect rows of pearly white teeth. From between them, her sweet, modest, lying tongue slid to form four more words. "That sounds really great."

Wybie grinned right back in triumph. He had her! He might just have her now! "Y-yeah," he agreed. "Did you want to go pick up your luggage, or..?"

"No, no!" Coraline hurriedly shushed him. "I can go get it tomorrow morning. But how about we go into town, grab a movie and a pizza, then curl up on that big comfy couch and just… ease back into each other. Like we used to."

"Yeah…" Wybie could barely contain it anymore. This feeling of darkness, of loss, was ever so slowly lifting and fluttering away on the breeze, dissolving into the rain outside. Coraline Jones was back, maybe for good (if he could help it), and she was staying the night. It was like being eleven again. "Like we used to."

* * *

"Oh my god!" Coraline cupped her hand over her mouth for fear of expelling the pizza-pulp over her clean white undershirt. "I haven't eaten this kind of food for years!"

Wybie strode back across the room and collapsed onto the sofa beside her, ripping a piece from the warm cardboard box as he went. He looked down at Coraline with sheer amusement. "Oh, I s-suppose you count calories and all that crap now, don't you?" he mused. "Wouldn't want an extra half pound, it would _ruin_ you!"

If it hadn't been for the greasy mess in one hand, and the other still over her mouth disguising the absolute bliss of not worrying about what she was shovelling down, Coraline would have hit this stupid jerk so hard he couldn't get up to reach the remote. Instead, she limply kicked him in the stomach with her bare foot, attached to one long, pale, smooth leg. Wybie caught it before it could collide with his stomach, but immediately let it plummet off the sofa when he realised just what was resting in his palm.

"God Coraline, you haven't changed," he breezed, settling in to his corner against the big comfy cushions. "I swear you haven't. Not a bit."

He wasn't looking at her long enough to see the devious flash of malice that darted across her eyes right then. He was too busy fiddling with the remote. Coraline put down her piece of pizza back in the box, swung her legs back up behind her, arched her back and eased gently onto the sofa.

Wybie had by now become aware of her shifting ever closer to him. He felt the skin on her bare shoulder brush against his right elbow, but didn't dare take a look at her. He was already aware of the wild blush spreading like a nasty rash across his torso. He didn't want Coraline to be, either. But it seemed that she was more preoccupied with other things, namely, quite consciously driving Wybie insane. Even though she couldn't see him behind her, she was very well aware that shockwaves of tension were pulsing up and down his person. Smiling privately to herself, she very slowly arched her back outwards, shutting her eyes and feeling that delightful pop in her back muscles, a handy trick her chiropractor had taught her for when she felt like relaxing. The arch of her smooth white neck curved further still, in line with her spinal column, as she reclined further and further, slowly descending into the warm comfort of Wybie's lap. Coraline displayed her dexterity further still as her electric short cut brushed against her friend's tense leg, slowly pushing out her chest even further as she eased herself carefully to lean against his thigh.

Quick spasms and twitches shot up his leg, punching at his brain, telling him to look. He idly tilted his head away from the television for just a moment, but instantly regretted doing so, for once his gaze had fell upon her, and he could not tear it away. There was Coraline, stretched out like a cat on a comfy sunlit cushion, with the most contented smile painted on her lips. Her eyes were closed, but Wybie was sure she could see just fine without the aid of physical observation. Her left hand, the one that had been dangling over the edge of the sofa, was slowly drawing up the side, brushing his leg as it went, leaving a trail of cold underneath his skin. And then, with her three most central fingers, she traced her hand slowly down the perfect curved of her neck, caressing her collar bone, massaging her wonderfully freckly shoulders. Then it slipped a little more, her French manicured index nail hooking itself around the dangerously low neck of her soft white shirt. And it dragged itself another centimetre, then another, then another.

"Gosh, Wybie…" she purred, her long black eyelashes fluttering against her skin. "Is your boiler broken, or something? Because it's awfully warm in here…"

Wybie made an attempt to look away, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. His brain told him to move his head, just an inch, divert his attention elsewhere. But his wide, watery eyes were perfectly fine, resting in this position, thank you. So the fragile, perverted brain in Wybie HQ decided to go about it another way. He attempted to clear his throat in his manly, domineering voice, but instead of that deep throaty cough, came the squeak of a boy on the brink of puberty. It was just the noise Coraline needed to hear.

Her eyes fluttered open, rolling back as far as they would go to meet Wybie's. Oh, he was paying attention to her little show, all right. His eyelids were seemingly glued to his eyebrows, the pupils within round and dilated. His lop-sided jaw, no longer sporting that smug little smirk of his, was hanging loose like a rusty old weathervane perched on top of a barn. Coraline withdrew her hand from her shirt, and placed it underneath Wybie's clammy, clean-shaven chin. She gently pressed up, and his mouth was glued shut.

"There now," Coraline doted, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Well, it seems I'm just a little bit older after all."

His jaw, under her firm grip, protested slightly. She felt his tongue rolling about his mouth, searching for a way out, for an opportunity to stutter a little piece of his mind all over her. But she playfully slapped at his cheek, and any movement within that cavity turned rigid, like a deer in headlights. Flashing him her performer's grin, Coraline withdrew her hand, snatched the remote from his hands, and pressed 'Play' on the DVD screen. But she didn't move the rest of her body. She was perfectly comfortable where she was, right there on the sofa. With Wybie.

* * *

_Beyond darkness, there is more darkness. And beyond that, there is nothing. And there, between the pitch black and the inevitable, was Coraline, in a stratospheric limbo, teetering on the edge of an invisible, narrow pathway. She pursued on through the dark, arms flailing in front of her, searching for something – anything – the would reassure her she wasn't just walking wither her eyes wide shut into uncertainty._

_She kept walking, further and further, descending deeper into the bowels of the black and bottomless nothingness stretched before, behind and around her. There was no taste, smell nor temperature there to guide her through the obstacle. It was like being blindfolded and then forced to walk, barefoot, over a cliff. Only there was no rock or air or ocean spray beneath her cold bare feet. There was nothing. Simply, nothing._

_And then a light. An arch-shaped light had suddenly blinked into existence ahead of Coraline. There was no telling how far it was from her; there was nothing else around her to give her any sort of perception as to this world around her. But there was that white light, perfect and arched, not a ray descending into the black. It was unnatural, like the sun had been robbed of its splendour and pasted upon a bare canvas. It was dangerous and foreboding, but Coraline crept ever closer._

_A shape appeared against the white, as black as that for miles around. It was indefinable, yet almost certainly solid. And before Coraline's eyes, the shadow gradually began to take on form, mass and volume. It was becoming something… or someone. It twisted, morphed and slid, disappearing beyond the confines of the window of light, before returning to its frame. The silhouette made no noise distinguishable to the human ear, or at least to Coraline's, but even still, in her mind, she couldn't block out the sound of humming. Not like a bird, or a pleasant nursery rhyme, or a child skipping down the road on their way to school. No, this sound was entirely other-worldly, nothing like Coraline had ever been so unlucky to hear before. Its long, sad, slow song continued at the back of her head, swimming, ebbing and flowing throughout, yet refusing to come from anywhere in particular._

_And then, it came. A sudden burst of pain from deep within her, like a fist had been propelled through her chest, and was now squeezing the blood from her heart. But it wasn't just her heart, it was her entire body, being squeezed and twisted and compressed. Her lungs expelled her last gulps of air and they disappeared into the black before Coraline could catch them, and although she willed herself to reach out, to claw herself away form this torturous strangulation, not a bone, not a muscle, would move. For everything was on fire. Everything was being ground and tossed and jumbled, squeezed and snapped, condensed and compressed. It felt like a thousand open sores were bursting all over her skin as her flesh ripped and tore, weaving itself around her agonizing despair._

_And, through the pain, she could still hear it. The humming. Only now it had taken on a new tempo. It was restless and searching, devious and manipulative, flooding her head and competing against the pain. It grew louder and louder, and although Coraline willed her internal self to bid it away, it would not. This voice was nothing of hers, for it would not obey any command, no matter how much she thought against it. She writhed, collapsed, sweating and huddled there in the dark, unable to expel any kind of scream for there was nothing to power it. When suddenly, it stopped._

_And she became aware of the window of light once more._

_Something was whistling through the darkness, as the humming turned into a hideous screeching. It pounded against her head, as if someone was repeatedly, with all their might, bringing down a wooden mallet onto the top of her skull. She reached out for whatever was with her there in the dark, blindly thrashing, extending her arms as far as they would go in the hopes that they would catch onto something solid. But instead, in an instant, something caught hold of her. And it began digging its cold, sharp fingers into the fragile skin of her neck, pressing down on her jugular, making sure there was nothing left within that might keep her living. Then, all at once, the screeching stopped. But the hand kept hold. And the silence, the eerie, dangerous silence, was filled with a soft, echoic voice, one from the deep reaches of Coraline's childhood. It was that of her mother's._

_Only not._

_And it bore into her, as the strong mechanical hand dug further into her skin, and with a horrific sense of helplessness, Coraline could actually feel her brain shutting down. Like she had witnessed of the buildings from her apartment window, the big office skyscrapers, her brain cells began blinking out, like little lights. One by one, another office worker turned in for the evening, shutting off his work station and flicking off the lights. Each one blinked out of existence, and she began to feel faint, as more cut short and failed her. The pain, the memories, her consciousness, everything was slipping. But just for one second, one terrifyingly surreal second of clarity, everything shot right back into existence. And that's when she heard it._

_The high, mocking voice, that which imitated and parodied her mother's but behind the mask, had the edge of austere, inhuman, soulless hunger. The voice of the other mother shocked her awake, and gripped tighter to her than that disembodied hand lodged into her throat. It was barely a whisper, but it bounced around the black space, making the nothingness seem a lot less infinite than she had first thought. It had no root, no throat, no location, yet it was anywhere and everywhere, inhabiting Coraline's rotting brain and the space around her. And it wasn't inside the dream._

"Welcome home, Coraline!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Well, hello everyone. Just thought I'd say a big thank-you for all the feedback and support regarding my story; it's been really great. I appreciate it very much. ^_^ Just wanted to add, I'm changing the title. It no longer seems appropriate, the direction I'm heading in. Hah. And sorry about the fluff; without it, it wouldn't really be me writing. Thanks again, and enjoy!_

* * *

For an entire forty-eight hours, Coraline Jones had been able to function quite freely without her life support. But now, as she emptied the contents of her slick black bag, and rummaged through them in a desperate search for her room key, the cold silver plastic had brushed against her skin, and it dawned on her how much she had missed it. Temporarily disregarding her previous quest, she cupped the gleaming little device in her palm, and held her thumb down on the big blue button.

Her phone greeted her with that same old warm jingle, accompanied by the slow etch of a beautiful bright graphic. 'Welcome, Coraline!' it read in big red letters. Then it all abruptly ceased, and the home screen began to boot up. For a while the connections stood pending against the serene picture of the bonsai plastered behind the banners alerting her of what the time and date was, and where in the world she currently stood. And for a moment, the tiny little hourglass in the corner twirled; something quite large was pending. Then up popped on the screen amongst a chorus of disruptive beeping, the notice that Coraline has received twelve missed calls, twelve voicemails and twenty messages.

The inbox took almost an entire minute to load; the name '_Robin Stern_' appeared over and over again, demanding her attention by means of inane clutter. Coraline frowned, but a pang of guilt shot through her like a body-rocking seizure. She'd cut her own fiancé off for days, not a word, not a trace to be found of her. Here she was in some old, freezing hotel room, a Versace suitcase at her feet and a room key in her pocket, and a man anxiously awaiting her return some twenty miles away. And then there was poor Robin, asking after her at every opportunity. But, silencing the accusing voices that pounded against her skull once again, Coraline hastily switched off her mobile phone and tucked it into her coat pocket.

Outside the murky windows of the tavern room in which she was supposedly staying, the rain pattered down against the placid grey scape that melted into the purple hills beyond. Not a soul wandered the streets below, but the birds still sang their warbling lament in the trees above. It was a peaceful morning in the city, and an almost dead one on the outskirts of Ashland, where Coraline was soon to return.

She locked the big creaky door with the key that the surly barman had thrust into her hands the morning before, and thundered down the stairs into the deserted bar. The boiler hummed and rumbled happily in the closet down the hall, and the sound of running water was heard beyond that; the landlord was awake, presumably making breakfast. Coraline's fist had hesitated to knock upon the thin chipboard which separated those private quarters from the hall. Finally, she quivered and let her hand unclench itself, instead kicking the rusty old-fashioned key underneath the two-inch gap between the door and the polished floorboards.

Drifting out into the open, the sun settled on her pale, sparsely-freckled face. One gloved hand had to temporarily shield watering eyes from the glare, causing abstract sunspots which greatly obstructed her vision. Her cab was still waiting there, the impatient driver tapping his fingers against the dashboard. He slurped at his coffee as Coraline clambered into the backseat, slamming the door against the cold. The meter now read an astronomical $23.50, but she really didn't care. As the drab yellow chariot lurched across the uneven roads, and the buildings became less and less frequent, Coraline's heart persistently practiced a thrilling acrobatics routine. He was on her way back to the Pink Palace, but more importantly, she was on her way back to the Lovat residence.

* * *

Wybourne wrung his oddly-large hands around and around, shoving them into his pockets, running a finger through his tangled hair, drumming them across the paint-spattered kitchen table. She'd be coming back any minute, with her suitcase that contained all her belongings; her clothes, her perfume, her hairbrush… Wybie's body quaked in one sweeping motion from off-centre head to fumbling double-left foot. He was doing that thing again. Getting like… that. His grandmother had called it 'smitten'. Coraline called it 'creepy'.

He stooped down low, absent-mindedly letting the off-coloured china bowl clatter to the floor. Crossing the tiled floor, Wybie dropped the empty tin can into the bin, and sat at the table, cracking his knuckles, one by one. He felt that familiar soft tessellation and easy scrape of course black fur against his dirty old jeans. It brought a smile to his deathly white face. A soft purring came and the clink of crockery was heard, as the obscenely-old black cat parked its frail, creaking bones on the cold floor, and began to eat the meal that his makeshift master had left for him.

"I don't g-get it, Cat…" Wybie said absent-mindedly, continuing to pop all the joints in his gawky fingers. "I just don't get it. Why do I still like her?"

The cat's ears pricked up. It momentarily ceased to eat its warm, salty tuna, but as Wybie continued to ramble incoherently, he dived straight back in.

"Well, it isn't as if I l-like, like her… because it feels the same as when we were k-kids." He pulled his index finger a little too hard, giving him a nasty pulse of electric pain. It was enough to make him mentally twist the fawcett that had let his insecure thoughts flow from his brain and out his mouth, into the chilly, empty kitchen where the only sound was an old cat chomping away on a can of tuna.

He left the kitchen, and crossed into the worn and tired living room, where an empty pizza box and a stack of DVD cases lay scattered across the usually tidy coffee table. A bundle of blankets were tossed across the couch, and a hastily-scrawled note on crisp white daily planner paper was propped up against a stack of books on the bookshelf. Wybie picked it up, and read it for the fiftieth time that morning:

_'Morning, jerk wad! Just went out to grab my stuff, have a shower and whatnot. Beware; I will be back.'_ (The three last words were underlined.)_ 'Love, Coraline. '_

He smiled as he traced the gashed indents in the paper that her rich blue ink had made, and his gaze lingered on that word. The word she had written on a casual note to him. _Love_. He knew it meant nothing, at least not in the way he imagined it to. People like Coraline used it casually, like you would use a serviette. Let it grace your lips, smear your ruby red lipstick just a little, and then carelessly toss it across the leftover bones and stray vegetables you'd neglected out of dislike for the particular item or just because you didn't fancy them in general, and then have it carried away to be tossed out and reduced into environmentally-friendly paper goods. Wybie, as far as he could remember had only said the 'L' word once in regards to a person. It had been his grandmother, and when she'd died he had instructed it be etched on her elaborate marble stone. But the sad thing was, he'd thought it over a million times. And every single time, it was about... her. The childhood friend that had somehow arrived back at his doorstep after a long and tapering reuse and recycle process.

He reclined onto the cough, tucking the note into his jeans pocket. The fuzzy woollen blankets to his right still smelled of her; a floral, summery scent with the slightest trace of peroxide. They had long gone cold by now, but to Wybie, as he drew them to his chest and rested his heavy head against them; they were as scorching as a furnace. Or was that just his face? Just thinking about her, and what had happened last night, it made his cheeks erupt and char. And remembering the way she had pressed herself against him, easing into his position, drifting off to sleep with her head against him… it brought a nervous phantom grin to his face.

A warm, comfortable weight settled itself in Wybie's lap, and unfortunately it wasn't Coraline's sweet, quirky azure hair. Instead, the cat had settled himself across his knees, digging his claws into the thin, nervous underside of his leg, purring contentedly. Wybie discarded the blankets, and lay a hand across the cat's back. It opened one eye slightly, and gazed up at him. Then it arched its back majestically, shaking off the heavy hand, and perched atop Wybie's jittering knees. It stared.

Wybie had been familiar with this haggard creature all his life, and then some; he knew it like he knew his way through the gaping, dreary trees outside. The cat had been his only companion for some time, and, quite sadly, it was the only living soul he talked to these days. He knew the cat could not talk back, but he also knew it was of a higher intelligence. It had an air of arrogance and superiority, the way some cats do; but this one was much, much different. It was expressive, and comforting, and almost psychic. Wybie could read its expressions like the book that was hurriedly tucked behind some old photographs of his childhood.

Cats do not have eyebrows, but they do have a brow. And this scruffy old animal, worn with age, had its own prominent brow set in an almost human expression. It narrowed its wide blue eyes, and stared at Wybie accusingly, down the bridge of its nose.

_You're pathetic._

Wybie's face fell into a contorted, melting frown of anguish. "D-don't look at me like that!" he whined at the silent feline.

_Oh please!_ It mused, extending its shaky back leg and running its tongue down the contours of its fur, smoothing its glossy coat while simultaneously mocking Wybie with its carelessness. It brought its eyes back up to meet his, penetrating the awkward man's gaze with that paranormal power. _I am as ancient as those grand old trees, but not a cataract obstructs my vision. Not that I would need it, mind you. A blind man could see you're smitten for that girl._

Wybie chuckled, covering his beetroot cheeks with the bizarrely large palm of his right hand. He glanced nervously at the hallway, listening through the rain for the screech of a car in the driveway, or the thundering of red high-top sneakers against the thick grey mud. He dropped his line of sight, tracing the grooves in the floorboards, following the table runner across the floor, up onto the cluttered support, and up the ferocious tapping tail of the wise old beast who spoke in haughty tones in his head. It stared him down, unmoving, unblinking. _Your heart is pouncing around like a little dog in an open field, and yet you still have nothing to show for it,_ said the cat, or rather, said that cat's face.

"Is it really that obvious?" Wybie pondered. It was a stupid question, for ever since those days back when he was a kid; he had felt that same expression staring him down, from everyone. Coraline's parents, his schoolmates, Missus Spink and Forcible from the lower apartments, even his old grandmother. One eyebrow raised accusingly, with a sarcastic smile twitching on the corner of the lips. He had followed Coraline around everywhere, just happy to be near her. But that mocking expression, the why-don't-you-say-something-you-stupid-fool expression, trailed in his wake. Everyone wore it, except for Coraline herself. She just seemed completely oblivious.

The cat continued to flex and purr, but never once taking its tired eyes off of Wybie's sad expression. _You really are stupid_, it told him as it leapt gracefully from his lap to the pile of blankets. It settled in, and stared profusely, before a long, warbling cry came from its tight jaws. _In all my years, I have never once met a more cowardly man than you. Tell the girl_.

"I've tried!" he hollered, the cat leaping back in shock. It tunnelled its way underneath the blankets as Wybie continued his long, wily rant. "It's not easy, you know! I tried s-so many times, but I just can't! Besides…" he let himself cool down, taking a few long moments to welcome the air into his lungs, and flush out the blood that had risen to his face. "… it's the old C-Coraline I... uh… this one's… different."

The next thing he new, Wybie's face had hit the sofa. Hard. The hot, round pain seared in his upper arm and his sight grew hazy, as a shadowy figure leant over the sofa, peering at him. Its face was shrouded in a short-spanning cerulean waterfall; wet, plastered and dripping with an occasional soft pattering sound as a tiny droplet slid and absorbed into the sofa's course old fabric. His sight grew clearer, and the scarlet overwash dimmed. A broad, cheeky grin leered in on him, and a playful song of a voice broke the silence.

"Those voices giving you more trouble there, Why-were-you-born? If you want, I can sort them out for you."

Coraline Jones sauntered around the sofa, and threw herself back against it, pulling Wybie into his original seating position by his arm. As he sat there staring at her, his eye twitching uncontrollably, Coraline went on pulling off her shoes.

"Sorry I took so long," she said. "I ended up having a shower because they had this awesome-smelling shampoo in their bathroom, then I got a cold shower on my way down the driveway…"

"H-how long were you s-s-standing there?"

Coraline turned to face him, reclining further back into the sofa. She grinned again, her devious, prying sniggering grin. "Oh, not long… Why? Did I miss something?"

"I-I-I-I… uh, no, y-you didn't… nothing…"

"Hey!" Wybie sat there rigid, pinned to the sofa, not daring to make a move, as Coraline lunged over in front of him. Her body was taut and wet against his legs, and her hair did indeed smell gorgeous. Her arms were tugging frantically at the blankets that lay on the other side of him, and her fingers were desperately prying through the thick, comfortable wool. Finally, in the last layer of the abyssal wrappings, she uncovered her prize and held it aloft. She looked from the half-asleep black shape, then at Wybie's dumbstruck face, then back at the furry, purring lump who had now settled in her freezing lap. She stroked it happily, examining it thoroughly. Then her mind gave out an almighty click. "No way!" she voiced astoundedly. "No, freakin', way. Is this…"

Wybie grinned, glad that her prying self had withdrawn itself from his business, and only a tad relieved she was not lying across him anymore. Only slightly. He looked at her with that reassuring, yet slightly nervous expression of his, confirming her ill-formed question.  
"Yeah."

She squealed, making the cat writhe and jump, but it was quick to settle back into her gentle arms. Her neatly-kept fingernails caressed the fur behind its ears, making it almost glow with enjoyment, as she cooed over the animal from her childhood.

"You're so old! I can't believe you're still alive!" she told it with a good-natured teasing edge. "You old, arrogant thing, you! Oh, we should go outside and explore! I'll keep you dry, but you've gotta refresh my memory."

As Coraline continued to express her affection for the cat, Wybie's gaze shifted down to meet the animal's. It sat there in her lap, with a smug sort-of smile across its black, fuzzy cheeks. Wybie read it immediately. _Hate to break it to you, but she's exactly the same_.

Coraline had giggled as her old childhood friend and dashed past her and into the kitchen, murmuring something about making tea. The cat had leapt from her arms and strode in after him; she heard its rusty, seldom-used mew as it begged for Wybie to open the back door. There was the creak, screech and boom, then the torrential tsunami of rain hammering down on the old tin roof. The cat disappeared into the fog, and Coraline stood up.

She paced around the room, examining everything that adorned every shelf, every surface. On the third shelf down on the ceiling-height beech bookcase, was a seriously old photograph of herself and Wybie as children. She remembered that day like it was about a week ago. They had been twelve, and one bright and sunny day had escaped into town on his old makeshift motorbike. Coraline had wrapped her arms around his torso while she perched on the back of the smooth leather seat, pressing her head against his shoulder blades to banish the striking wind from her face. They had gotten icecream and bought a few comics, then bolted into the stuffy old arcade, and piled into the photo booth.

And there was that strip, preserved behind the scratched glass that sat in the ornate brass frame. There were just four silly pictures, them pulling ridiculous faces and poses. But the bottom one was Coraline's favourite. That was the one where she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, binding him like a boa constrictor, and planted a short, dramatic kiss on his right cheek. His face had been absolutely priceless. Looking back at it now, after all these years, Coraline nearly burst out laughing. He still made that face sometimes, in exactly the same way, like he had done last night when she'd wound him up just that little bit. The contorted, confused, shocked jaw-drop expression that was so hilariously cute.

Then she saw something else. A book. Her book. Stashed away behind the photographs, hidden obscurely by shadow and paper. But there was no mistaking the big, shiny silver lettering across the inch-thick spine. It was her auto-biographical story, the one she had written about the world behind the door. Gently sliding the old frame across the smooth, dusty wood, she took a hold of the binding on the book, and tugged it out from its comfortable position between two remarkably old yet sturdy encyclopaedias. It glittered at her, and the haunting cover illustration that her publisher had presented her with about eight months previously leered at her with big, black button eyes.

"Hey!" Coraline hollered in the general direction of the kitchen. "You didn't tell me you'd read my book!"

The kettle rumbled as that mop of curly brown hair, followed by an awkward beetroot grin, peered out from behind the barrier that separated the kitchen and the living room.

"I haven't had the chance to r-read it yet," Wybie beamed at her. "I s-s-saw your name and picked it up right away, though."

"Awwwh! How sweet of you, Wybourne!" Coraline gushed. She pressed the closed book to her chest, and flashed him her sweet, ensnaring grin. As fake and sugary as she sounded, she was actually quite genuinely moved by the gesture. Wybie quickly disappeared back behind the barrier as the kettle squealed to life.

She looked at the book in her arms, to the photograph on the shelf, and then cast her eyes into the kitchen, half expecting him to be standing there in the doorway, beaming at her with that wicked smile he had on him. He wasn't standing there. Then her eyes drifted back down to the book, and she drew back the hard front cover, and thumbed through the first few pages to the acknowledgements. There was one there for her parents, and for her publisher, and for Robin. Coraline grinned as she drew her cold, heavy ballpoint pen from the bag that was still slung across her hip, and she clicked the end, exposing the ink-covered ball. Just a few adjustments needed to be made to that page.

And before he even returned to the room carrying two mugs of coffee, one black as night (hers) and one slightly milky (his), she was perched innocently on the sofa, wringing out her hair, coat on the rack by the door, shivering body wrapped up in the warm, fuzzy blanket that already smelled just like her. He set it down in front of her, and she graciously took it into her hands straight away. This time when he sat down, he sat just an inch or so closer to her.

"Any idea wh-what you wanna do today?"

"Uhh…" Coraline drummed her fingers on the side of the mug, and brought it to her lips while she thought. Her soothing breath skimmed across the surface of the beverage, easing the steam to one side. "How about…" she began slowly. "We go exploring?"

Wybie gaped at her. "Seriously? Have you seen the weather out there?!"

"Oh, come on!" she mused, tossing her hair back and taking her first proper gulp of intense caffeine. "It'll be fun! Besides, I haven't been here in years! Years and years! You still have a bike, right? We'll go out and get wet and catch a cold and then come back and heal up!"

She pouted at him, her pupils dilating to astronomical sizes. Her soft red lips were slightly wet from the condensation rising off her cup, and a childish smirk played on the outskirts. Wybie rolled his eyes, and took a gulp of his own beverage. "F-fine."

"Yay!" Coraline grinned eagerly, and curled her legs further underneath her body, reclining into the seat, and a little closer to her friend. She was really beginning to forget the reason she came to Oregon in the first place.

* * *

"This is awesome!"

"It's wet."

"Yeah, but it's awesome!"

Coraline ecstatically raced through the trees, letting all the colourful memories envelope her. Her childhood was swirling around her; she could touch it, but not quite relive it. But she was pretty damn close. Wybie trailed behind her, jogging to keep up with her break-neck eagerness. She laughed and cheered as she sifted her way through the woodlands that stretched on for miles, not caring that the rain was beating down her with all the force it could muster. It was thinning up a little, plus she was having the most fun she'd had in… _how long?_

Panting dramatically, she slowed down and pressed her back firmly against a tree, sinking to its base, nestled among the roots. Wybie had by this time caught up with her, and was quite alarmed when she tugged him down by the arm to her level. They sat there, side by side in silence for a few moments, with nothing but their frantic breathing and the onslaught of rain for company. Finally, Coraline let her head fall heavily onto his heaving shoulders, and she looked up into his wide eyes.

"So…" she began, still huffing and puffing from her long-distance sprint through the woods. "Tell me about what happened. While I was gone, I mean."

"W-well…" Wybie's eyes reclined into his skull, searching for the memories. They then drifted back to meet hers. "Missus Spink and F-Forcible moved out to London a few years after you left – something about trodding the boards, or acting, or something."

Coraline laughed distantly. "And Mr B upstairs? Where'd he run off to?"

"You're n-never gonna believe me."

A swift, steady punch landed itself in Wybie's shoulder. "Tell me!"

"Alright!" he turned to her, grinning with sincere, rich amusement. "He's travelling Europe with his m-mouse circus."

A sudden burst of hysterical laughter erupted from Coraline's diaphragm, rocketing her torso forward, making her double over in a sincerely awkward folded position. She threw herself back against the tree, wiping the tears of salty joy from her eyes. "Are… are you serious?!"

"Deadly."

They both collapsed into each other, laughing until it hurt, until oxygen was becoming an issue. They slowly eased back into their seated position, leaning on the tree for support. Then Coraline once again turned to Wybie, and dug deep into his retinas.

"How about you?" she asked softly. "How come you never left?"

Wybie wasn't prepared. He knew the real reason he hadn't left, and so did that stupid cat. But he wasn't about to say it. Not now. Because it just made him seem so… simple. "W-well…" it was time to put is improvisational skills to the test. "After gramma died, I c-couldn't exactly sell off the house… nobody would buy it, see." He glanced at Coraline, whose eyes flitted about their sockets restlessly. He hoped she was buying it. "So I stayed, and r-rented it out, did some college courses… just kept to myself. I was happy where I was."

Coraline mentally scratched her chin. She followed Wybie's gaze off into the trees, trying to suss out what he was thinking. Finally, her pondering lead her to a brief, yet trumping, two-word query. "And… now?"

"And now, w-what?"

"Are you happy now?"

"Y-yeah. I guess I am."

Coraline eased back against him, finding the strength of his shoulder reassuring. "That's okay then."

And just like that, the moment was in the past. Etched forever in both of their minds, against the cold marble memory surface. There was no sense in ruining it, or prolonging it, because you can't do much better than perfection. So Coraline pushed that point of her life aside, and plunged into the next one, as she leapt from the tree and plummeted further into the heart of the woods. Wybie grinned as he levered himself up, pushing onwards through the rain, blinded by the wet but able to follow her childish laughter through the hollow trees.

She ran forever, aware he couldn't gain on her unless she slowed right down, but that was okay. She didn't want to be caught just yet. She needed to run further, just to let her mind relive that moment over and over, while she stalled for time. So in and out of the trees went she, a blurry spectre of blue and yellow flitting about the dark grey landscape. Her muddy shoes thudded against the ground, splattering the concrete mud all over her jeans. But she didn't care. She kept on running, letting the world fly past her.

Until she saw it.

And she stopped dead.

The large, bloated, mouldy circle of wood that lay discarded among the tall grass. About three feet ahead of it, was a low hole, and in it was blackness. Blackness, water, a large rock and a blanket. But she already knew that there was nothing else down there. Not what she had put there. And as Wybie caught up to her, and slowed to a halt, he was just in time to catch her as the world went hazy and black, and everything was stuffy, and she tumbled over into the dark weightlessness.

* * *

"Coraline? Coraline?"

The numbness was subsiding, and Coraline hated every second. A rush of colour and light infiltrated her vision, shying her back under the security blanket of her eyelids. But she jerked them open again as a grinding pulse of pain flooded through her cranium, and struggled to pry herself from the sofa due to its heaviness. Her eyes struggled to hold the world together, and everything before her strayed into two fuzzy parodies of the other, and quivered and swayed back to form one solid object as her sight gradually improved, and the light lost its striking glare. Coraline groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, gripping it tightly and dragging herself by her fringe into a seated position. And there was Wybie.

"What the hell…" she mumbled incoherently. "What happened? Where… how did I get here?"

"You f-fainted. Out in the woods," he replied hurriedly. "You're pretty h-heavy, Jonesey. It was a pretty slow ride on the bike b-back."

Coraline landed a half-hearted, dizzy punch where she estimated was his upper arm. "Shut up… Jerk…" she dragged.

"Glad to hear you've not gone and got a-amnesia on me, then," he chuckled, gently handing her a glass of water. With trembling hands she accepted it, but pressed his palm firmly to the cold, slippery glass for support. She took a sweet mouthful, and let him set the glass back down. She smiled gratefully, and eased back onto the sofa. Wybie rushed to her side, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and helped her settle back.

At once she jolted upwards out of his comforting cradle, leaving behind all the drowsiness that had overwhelmed her. She remembered it, she finally remembered. The well. It was uncovered. She remembered that faint, coppery smell coming deep within the lichen-clad stone, the blackness reaching down into the depths of hell… the dream. The one that had been so recent, so vivid, yet hidden underneath the jubilancy of just being home. And she had to stop it all now. She understood that much.

"W-where are you going?" Wybie called after her, as Coraline bounded from the sofa to the front door, tugging on her sneakers with one hand and clawing through her bag with the other.

"I'm going back," she shrilly replied, not looking up.

"Back? Back where?"

"To the other world." She paused, sat down on the welcome mat, and carefully tied her muddy shoelaces. Her toes curled and squelched in the water-logged canvas trainers. As she tugged at the ends and tucked them into her socks, a shadow loomed over her, eclipsing the strained light coming from the front door. She looked up into Wybie's frantic face, trying to dismiss his pathetic, silent bid for her to stay.

"Y-you… you didn't come back for just a friendly visit… did you?"

Coraline hung her head, and stood up, tall and proud. She still couldn't meet his gaze. "No."

"Then I guess," he said, resting his lop-sided head on top of hers, "I'm coming with you."

"NO!" Coraline lurched away, slamming herself into the front door. It rattled in its hinges, and her left arm behind her crawled along the wood, searching for the knob. She twiddled it frantically, shoving it back and forth in its rest. It wouldn't budge. She flipped herself over, using both hands to tug at the stiff, stubborn brass doorknob, while simultaneously trying to stifle her tears. She sobbed dryly, negotiating with all her might against the door, but ultimately lost. She sank to the mat once again, manically sobbing, her short neat fingernails scratching ditches into the paintwork as she went.

"You can't…" she whispered. "That place was _made_ for _me_. It almost killed me. And I thought I killed _It_. But I didn't. And now I have to go back…"

"No, you d-don't." Wybie sank to his knees, and placed her hands firmly on Coraline's thin, jerky shoulders. "There's n-nothing there. I'm still positive you're just insane. Really."

"_You don't know!"_ she hollered, causing Wybie to topple back. He quickly recollected himself, and stared at her fiercely. Through the tears, she stared back. "Another kid got taken because I didn't finish her off before!"

"That has nothing to do with-"

"_Yes_ it does!"

Wybie sighed. "Look…" he offered, struggling desperately against her raging temper. "If it makes you feel any better… I'll come with you up to the h-house."

Coraline's gaze softened, and her brow relaxed. She swallowed her sobs momentarily. Wybie continued to speak. "W-we'll go and check for this… 'World', of yours, and th-then we'll come back and order another pizza. Okay?"

She grabbed his hand suddenly, and held it in both her own. Her forehead rested heavily on the weave of fingers, and then she looked into his eyes above the reassuring handshake. "Don't die on me."

"I won't. He pulled Coraline into a warm, slightly awkward hug against the front door, and finally her violent sobbing resided, and the tears dried against his thick black sweater. Wybie's flushed cheek brushed against her deep, flowing hair, and grinned. Finally they pulled apart, and he stood up. "I need my c-coat."

Wybie slipped into the other room, leaving Coraline to pick herself up off the floor. He whisked his thick black trench coat from its home draped over the sofa, and then crossed the room to where the photograph stood. He looked at it tenderly, remembering the day he'd slid it in there. The day they had taken it. It still made his heart thump like there was no tomorrow. He picked it up, and stuffed it into the internal pocket of his coat. Along with Coraline's best seller. He hadn't had the chance to read it just yet, but he figured if she wasn't just crazy, he'd be needing all the insight he could get into her Wonderland. If it was actually real, that was.

Five minutes later, he'd rugged up and bundled Coraline out of the house, tossing her designer yellow coat over her shoulders. They trudged up to the Pink Palace together, never drifting more than an inch apart. Finally, as they climbed the few steps to the dusty, beaten porch, Wybie rapped three times on the door and waited. And waited.

Coraline parted from him, peering into the curtained window that stood to the right of the door. All was dark within the hallway. Even for the tragic shell of a woman she had stood before not two days prior to the moment; Coraline's former home was completely devoid of life.

"She isn't there," Coraline shouted over the vicious howling of the wind. "Do you have a key or something?"

"Y-yeah," Wybie replied. "But that's trespassing. I-I can't do that."

"It won't matter, once we're inside."

He sighed, feebly giving in to her shallow persistence, drawing a bundle of brass keys from his external jacket pocket. He leafed through them, then shoved the right one into the rusty old lock. He turned it counter-clockwise, waited for the friendly hollow click, and then shoved the door open.

The two bundled inside, and threw the door closed against the wind. Wybie turned to Coraline, unbuttoning his coat halfway down. "S-so?" he said. "Where are we going?"

She said nothing in return, but cast a glance upwards over the banisters. Then she began to walk, slowly, taking her time not to trip on the dusty old stairs. Wybie trailed after her, ready to catch her if she fell, or chickened out. But she didn't. And she lead him to the old drawing room, where a tiny, child-sized door stood ajar on the far wall of the room.

They knelt before it, Coraline's mind scraping at her skull. It hollered and wailed at her, pleading for her to turn away, but she couldn't. Not now. The Other Mother had the key, and she had rolled out the welcome mat for her long lost daughter.

Wybie was seeing it, too. There was nothing beyond the door, literally nothing. No room, no bricks, only black. That was what was quite terrifying about the door, really. It seemed to open into the unknown, into a place somehow connected to the well that lay about a mile from home. And searching through the thick blanket of black for any kind of solid form was not going to make things any less final. Because this cavern was proof that Coraline wasn't crazy.

"Go on then, Mister Commando," she mused, though her tone was anything but light and playful. "Go prove me insane. I dare you."

"N-no way," he breathed. "This is your world, now get in th-there and I'll follow you."

Coraline poked her tongue out at him, and shed her coat from her body. Underneath was her saturated black shirt, plastered to her frame as if it was painted on. She took a deep breath, and plunged herself head first into the blackness. Wybie followed suit.

They crawled through the tiny tunnel for what seemed like hours and hours. The strain on Coraline's muscles was tremendous; she was simply too big to fit in that tunnel properly, and so had to crouch so low that her short hair brushed the invisible floor. They crawled until any trace of light behind them was lost, and they themselves seemed to flicker out of existence as it became impossible for them to see their own hands. And then she saw it.

Up ahead, just out of physical reach, it hovered before her once again. The arched light that knew no bounds as it stretched from its solid shape to fan across the space before it, intercepting with no barrier or wall. Coraline stopped crawling, and behind her felt Wybie tumble onto her outstretched legs. She hissed warningly, and bucked him off. And then he gasped, and she knew he saw it too.

The familiar silhouette stood against the light, shapeless and menacing. It began to take form, and became less and less of a solid mist. It took on curve and mass, and filled the space in the light tremendously. Coraline's heart pounded faster than it ever had before, and she knew this time the apparition was not a dream. It was there, it had flesh, and it was angry.

The pain washed over her, and this time she couldn't help but scream. Her bones and muscles contracted as her skin burned with tightness, and she writhed and flailed on the ground. The light washed over her as it grew wider, or rather nearer, and she continued to howl against the agony. Her cries did not stand alone, and nor did they echo. Wybie behind her was howling too, and the ripping and tearing sound aggressively consumed her body. She did not shed a single tear of blood, but she felt any quantity of the stuff she possessed in her body rush to her head where it drowned her brain, and fought to wash out from behind her eyeballs. But this time the world did not spin, nor did she grow faint as the pain became too much to bear. She stayed aware and sober against the mighty pleas of her internal voice. Or was it external? She could barely tell anymore.

And then as she continued to scream, to flail for something to grab onto, the shape loomed above her. The light seemed to shine through its hideous elongated smile, and all of a sudden she felt weightless, and she was only vaguely aware of her tired, burning form being hoisted up from where it lay in the dark. She clamped her eyes closed, concentrated on restricting her senses. She was being dragged by the arms into the light, and the relief it provided washed over her. But she did not dare acknowledge what was in the light. She already knew what was there, but she didn't want to look.

The pain was subsiding now, and then tension all over her body was easing. She couldn't hear Wybie anymore, and she was honestly relieved. His screams only reminded her that she was indeed conscious, neither dreaming nor hallucinating. He was the link between reality and nightmare, and to hear him come undone as she had only rocked her mind further into insecure hysteria. She felt the blood rush from her head and set her mind free, and silently thanked the light for forcing it to pulse around her suddenly numb joints. Coraline was alive; her heart beat and here blood flowed and her lungs consumed and expelled the light.

"Now now, Coraline," the voice lapped around her as if it belonged to the light. It was the voice of her mother, her real mother, only this was just a cheap parody of what once was. Coraline fought against it, with all her might trying to push it out of her ears. But it still rung around her as it continued to speak. "The trip across must've been very uncomfortable." It said, every syllable dripping with honey. "I'm going to take you to bed, and when you feel a little better feel free to come downstairs and have some breakfast. Welcome home, darling."

Her feet dragged along the floor as her torso was elevated, and her oddly bare heels smashed painfully against every wooden step she encountered. Her eyes remained closed, and Coraline hoped that just by doing so she could make it all go away. But she couldn't. This was real, and she was back.

Coraline felt the soft warmth of freshly-washed bed sheets envelope her, and cold, red lips plant themselves on her forehead. Her body remained rigid, trying to resist the comfort of the bed, but as the door creaked shut beyond her Coraline eased herself into the sheets. She rolled over onto her left hand side, stretching her body out across the sheets. Something felt wrong.

It wasn't the sheets, or the room, or the self-inflicted blindness that was the problem. It was the absence of something. By now, and for many years previously, Coraline had been used to the light pressure of her breast against her arm when she slept on her side. It was never something she usually thought of, but she was always aware of it being there. It restricted the movement of her arm somewhat, and usually it induced pins and needles up to her shoulder. Her other arm would drape across the curve of flesh, and lay its fingers against her neck. But when Coraline tried to assume her usual, comfortable sleeping position, it didn't fit.

Her eyes snapped open, and the dim light in the room sifted into focus. Coraline sat up, painfully aware of the lightness of her chest. With the heel of her hand she expelled the anguished tears of pain from her eyes, and let the room sift into focus. She cautiously looked down. And she knew what she saw was no trick of the light. Her body was shapeless, straight up and down like a wooden ruler. She was no longer clad in the figure-hugging black sweater she had slipped on this morning after her shower. Instead, when she looked down, she was wearing a simple heap of black cashmere. It was her sweater. But she no longer fit it.

Coraline threw the soft pink sheets off of her legs, and thrust them over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Unsteadily she stood, and became aware of her lack of altitude. Leaning against the wall for support, she dragged herself over to the dresser, and flung it open. And saw herself reflected in the mirror.

It was Coraline Jones, not Ms Jones, the new acclaimed fiction writer. She was plain old Coraline Jones, just over five feet tall and scrawny as an iron ped post. Her short blue hair was plastered to her forehead by the perspiration that leaked form her hairline, and quizzical eyes stared back at her. And wrapped against the neatly-painted wooden door of the bureau were short, thin, pale fingers, their nails ragged and bitten. Painted a regal, deep shade of ocean blue.


	4. Chapter 4

"It isn't happening, this cannot be happening… wake up Coraline! Damnit, wake up!"

Coraline Jones flung herself about the dimly-lit open space that parodied her childhood bedroom, while the cloudless sky winked and beckoned her with its numerous silver eyes. The bureau had been forced against the wall and locked tight; the mirror wasn't to be trusted. Instead of the tall, slender woman with the dark circles under her eyes Coraline had accepted as her reflection, it showed a little girl with an imagination as wild as her hair colour.

She continued to pace back and forth, anxiously tugging the soft, baggy sweater over her scrawny little legs. The blurred memories and the suppressed anguish rushed up her throat, coated in the unpleasant saltiness of a child's tears. In hushed, frantic whispers, Coraline repeatedly told herself that it wasn't real, because it wasn't possible. But the message wouldn't penetrate, and the truth inhabited her consciousness triumphantly. It was indeed real, and it wasn't going to go away, no matter how long she thought against it.

Her eyelids glued to one another, Coraline wrenched open the freshly painted dresser. A sliver of light floated across her vision; that shifty mirror was glinting in the moonlight, praying for her to acknowledge her situation. She instead blindly turned her back on the traitor, and let her eyes flutter open and adjust to the dark. She groped through the various garments strung upon the interior metal rod, and feeling a short wave of security as she plucked from the sea of beautiful clothing, a clean, shiny yellow rain coat. She tossed it behind her onto the floor, and continued to dive through the dresser's contents until she found the most plain, comfortable, conservative outfit that sat in there. The old striped sweater smelt of the fabric softener her mother used to use, and the jeans hadn't been pressed; just the way she liked them.

Coraline dressed in silence, keeping her attention firmly swayed from the mirror behind her. Her bare feet stood on the unnaturally warm polished floor, toes wriggling and open to attack. Next to the tall, enchanting canopy bed was a stout bedside table; Coraline flung the top drawer open and held up a pair of clean, soft green socks for inspection, before sliding onto the edge of the decorative sculpture of a bed to tug them onto her feet. She sat there against the bedpost for a few uncomfortable minutes; uncomfortable partly because of the twisting, winding shape carved into the post, but predominantly because of the dreamy, unclear silence that rested upon the room. Below the glitter-coated boards that shone and twinkled in the freezing silver moonlight, Coraline could hear Her humming; a long-drawn, lamenting tune that seemed to have mass. It crept up through the cracks and bound her mind to the bed, whispering for her to not move a muscle, to wait for the vocal chords from whence it came to slither on up the stairs just past that big white door, dragging the rest of the body with them. But Coraline knew she couldn't let that happen.

Crossing the room perched on her toes, she noiselessly made it to her bedroom door. She curled her fingers around the knob, and eased it open, stepping aside as it slowly swung across the space where she had been standing. There lay the hall: deserted and exposed, dark and dreary. The only light was of the moon behind her, and the warm orange glow creeping up the stairs. The ambient sounds of the kitchen below danced up the banister, a healthy crackling of cooking fat in a pan and that slow, gentle, whispering humming. Coraline took graceful, light steps toward the staircase, and the warm light crept up her body. Each foot she put on the next step down felt like each toe was adorned with elaborate lead trinkets; it was an agonizingly slow decent. At last, she reached the landing, and the kitchen was alive behind a slightly-ajar door.

The warm, inviting scent of breakfast cooking wafted out into the hall, floating around Coraline's head, dizzying and enticing. She shook the smell away ferociously, and advanced towards the kitchen. Her warm, fuzzy socks toed the line of light issuing from behind the door, and her entire body swayed out of the beam as if it would burn her at the touch. Coraline thrust her arm out in front of her, pushing the door further into the room. She didn't burn. But the scene before her was all too familiar, and it was sickening. A wonderfully attractive, curvaceous woman worked merrily at the old stovetop, flitting, humming as she did her work. Behind her was an elaborately-set kitchen table with a place for one: a place for Coraline. The scene was surreal, and a little painful. It triggered something deep down inside the now young girl, a place that had been thrust into the shadows to gather dust and cobwebs for almost twenty years. It roared into life like the rusty old water heater, and she propelled onwards into the sickening kitchen scene.

"Why!?" she screeched, slamming her hand into the Other Mother's shoulder and wheeling her around. The cheap parody of her real mother stared down at her, that glossy red smile alarmed and menacing. Coraline recoiled slightly, but immediately gathered her gusto. That smile wasn't going to stay there for long. "What did you do?! Why am I like this?"

The Other Mother simply smiled, and giggled carelessly. She returned to flip the succulent bacon sizzling away in the pan, and then redirected her attention back to the fuming girl. "Well, hello to you too, Coraline," she sung. "It's been a while since you last came home; I thought you'd forgotten about us. But my!" she raised her hands, the cheerful chicken-shaped oven glove dangling from her left. "You don't look a single day older than when I last saw you."

Coraline scowled, and one by one, popped her knuckles loudly. "That's the problem," she hissed. "What the hell did you do? How did you even get back?!"

"Oh, I have my ways," said the Other Mother, bright and cheery as a tulip on the first day of spring. She dropped her left arm, the oven glove disappearing somewhere behind her on the shiny counters. Her right arm remained up, however, and she drew it closer to Coraline's face for her to observe.

A long, silky black glove defended the arm from her eyes; it snaked all the way up and disappeared under the sleeve of her black chiffon blouse. The material shone in the light, and highlighted every lump and curve. Coraline cocked her head to one side, and noticed that just at the wrist, the beldam's hand was slightly off-centred. Long, even lumps of stitching seemed to bind the two pieces of flesh together. The fingers wriggled like long, thin caterpillars under the glove, before it dropped below her eye line. The round, gleaming buttons sewn neatly to a glowing face peered at her then. Although they were nothing more than plastic discs, behind the holes were the flames of self-righteous triumph held within the beldam. Coraline bit her lip.

"I'm sure you're aware of how a cockroach can live for a prolonged period of time without its head?" the Other Mother queried lightly. Coraline simply nodded, never taking her eyes off those deep black abysses. "Well, everything can mend in time, providing its environment suits. And down there, in the dark and wet, the needles may grow rusty but they'll always be able to serve their purpose. Providing they have thread, of course." The Other Mother observed Coraline's quizzical expression, then plainly stated her case. "You left a blanket down there with me, dear," she whispered through her merrily clenched teeth. "And though my fingers were slow and old, they managed to weave themselves back together."

Coraline was dumbfounded. _How… how did she get out?_ "And… the hand still got out?"

"Oh, it took a while!" the Other Mother exclaimed. Her tongue dripped with poison as she loaded the bacon onto a plate, and efficiently cracked an egg into the fizzling pan. "It was a long climb, but if you persevere, you can accomplish anything. Now, wash up and sit down. Breakfast's nearly ready."

"No, I'm not done talking yet!" Coraline yelled. The Other Mother looked slightly taken aback, but as she tended to the eggs, her eyebrows raised and her smile resurfaced.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," spat the feisty little girl, drumming her fingers on the counter to her left. "What did you do to _me_? How did you do it? This like a nightmare!"

"The rules of time are very strict," the voice so much like her mother's drifted off into the starry night. It faded to a whisper, as the other mother leaned in a little closer towards her ear. "But in my world," it said, "It's different. I can break the rules as I please."

Coraline pulled away, and hastily pushed past the monster to stare out of the window. Outside, not a sound, not a movement existed. All was placid and silver, as the round full moon beamed down upon the scene. The garden shone and glistened with life, and the woods slept and shivered in the still night air. Then she remembered.

"Wybie!" she screamed, whirling around to face the back of the Other Mother. "What did you do with him!? I want to see him!"

The beldam wheeled around, crisp white crockery in hand. It was laden with perfect, delicious steaming food, and as she set it down gently on the ruby placemat she beamed at Coraline. "Now, darling," she said. "Your friend was just as tired as you were after your trip home, so your father escorted him home. I assure you, he's perfectly alright."

"Home?" Coraline asked. "You let him back across?"

"Oh, goodness no!" The Other Mother let out a short, tinkling laugh, delighting in the fact that the girl had put forward such an impossible idea. Coraline shivered. The woman continued. "His grandmother has been waiting to see him for a long time, so he went back to her. You can see him later, but you need to eat your breakfast first."

Coraline smirked at her, and looked from the plate to the hideous red-lipped grimace of the beast that was standing before her. It was menacing, seeing it again. After all that had been said and done so long ago, Coraline had thought she was finally able to rest easy knowing she was in no danger. But it seemed she had been shaken from her delusional slumber, and here before her stood the waking world. But she wasn't scared; the witch had her weaknesses, and they certainly wouldn't be restricted to her arm. Coraline was going to find them, and rest easy once again. But she needed Wybie.

"Gee, I'm really not hungry," she sang, skipping around the table and perching by the door. "I'll just go outside and play now, as we kids do."

"But Coraline – "

" – Have a nice time," Coraline interrupted, pulling together the buttons on her yellow rain coat. She could see, at the end of the hall, her swampers perched by the doormat, cheerfully awaiting her to slip her feet inside them. Keeping them waiting for just one more moment, she swung back around the doorframe, and grinned sarcastically at the Other Mother. "Do get used to being alone," she said, "Because it won't be long before all you have is yourself."

The beldam didn't try to stop Coraline as she flitted down the hall and burst into the open air, and Coraline suddenly felt alleviated. The dark foreboding was lurking all around, and she knew sooner or later the moment of truth would be forced upon her. But she diminished the feeling with her inner lantern of hope, and used it to carry her onwards as her bright little rain boots crunched the soil of the newly-rejuvenated earth. Everything looked so new and freshly-wrapped: above her some bright lights shimmered and beckoned into the Amazing Mr B's jumping mice circus, and off in her peripheral vision was the automated flash and hum of an orchestra warming up in the regal red theatre. Everything was bright and cheery and enticing, and it had once ensnared her childish self. But now Coraline was older, at least on the inside. She saw the world in black and white, and all the shades of grey in between. She was wise, and she was level. She wasn't a kid anymore, no matter how contradictory her outward appearance was.

Dropping each foot onto the driveway, Coraline skipped into the tiny world of hers. Her eyes scanned the grounds, watching the hasty backdrop of the trees disappear across the horizon. Her legs carried her up the path and down towards the outer reaches of the property, where Wybie's house usually stood. Sure enough, there it was, nestled among the trees. It no longer looked old and battered, but it had erupted into life. The porch was adorned with various odd bits and bobs, contraptions and gizmos. The boards were fresh and sturdy, and the front door was polished an attractive. Coraline dared to blemish it as she rapped persistently across its shiny, sanded surface.

There was silence behind the door for some time; Coraline dared to trap her soft coat of hair between the wood and her ear as she concentrated, scanning for signs of life on the inside. All she could hear was the blood rushing around her skull, and was quite startled when the door gave way and she almost toppled to the hearth. Straightening herself up, her eyes drew level with a younger, more sprightly Miss Lovat. Her shiny black button eyes peered at Coraline expectantly; they weren't harsh and domineering, more curious and strained. Her old lips curled into a friendly, tired smile, causing her weathered old skin to wrinkle further. She was just as Coraline remembered.

"Hi, Miss Lovat," said the girl politely.

Wybie's grandmother's smile broadened. "Hello, Coraline," she replied. "I assume you'll want to see Wybourne?"

"If you don't mind, ma'am."

"Maybe you'll do him some good; he won't let me in his room."

Coraline raised her thin brown eyebrows in concern. Sure, it was all new and strange to him, but wouldn't he be happy in the slightest to see his grandmother, or the imprint from his memory, alive and walking? She wondered as she followed the old woman through the warmly-decorated house, if the Other Mother had indeed harmed him. Her heart worked overtime, slamming into her ribcage and sending tremors all across her skeleton. Up the stairs she trooped behind Miss Lovat, who moved so fluidly and without the creaks of old age. Finally, at the top of the stairs, they stood on the tight dim landing, and the old woman tapped on the first door on the left with her old wrinkled knuckles.

"Wybourne?" she called. "You have a visitor."

A hurried thumping and scrambling was heard from behind Wybie's bedroom door, then a tight click issued from the door itself. Miss Lovat tried to turn the doorknob, but to no avail. "Wybourne!" she called, slightly more forcefully. "This girl's come all the way to see you. The least you can do is talk to her!"

"G-go away!" floated his unsteady voice from the crack under the door. "I don't w-want you to see me!"

Miss Lovat glanced apologetically at Coraline. "I'm sorry about him, dear," she said. "He's being so rude."

"It's okay, ma'am," Coraline replied, suppressing the frustration that threatened to rip through her skin at any second. "Please, let me have a try."

Miss Lovat nodded, and Coraline gently edged past her. She pressed her scrawny body against the door, raised her left fist, and let loose a cacophony of hostile bangs.

"Wybie!" she bellowed, her head pressed against the wood. It smelled of fresh paint; the fumes were stifling at such immediate proximity. But the drowsier Coraline felt, the more loudly and forcefully she hammered. "You get over here and unlock this door right now or so help me; I will climb onto your roof and smash the window!"

There was silence, at least on Wybie's side, as Coraline continued to pound on the door. Miss Lovat had retreated downstairs and out of sight; Coraline was aware she was just a puppet sewn by the beldam, but she still felt sorry for the woman. Like the poor old Wybie who lived without a tongue, she had a kind heart.

Coraline stopped knocking for a second, and clamped her eyes shut, concentrating all her brain power on her eardrums. She projected her hearing to the other side of the door, where she could envision Wybie pressed against the door much in the same way she was. The thought reminded her of an old horror film she'd once watched, where a girl was being chased by a zombie. Her and Wybie had snuck into the cinema behind a huge group of teenagers back when they were twelve; they'd come out about halfway through green-faced and wretching. It brought a smile to Coraline's face, remembering how dizzy they had both felt, clutching onto each other for fear of falling over, and not daring to laugh for fear of expelling vomit all over the sidewalk. Good times.

Then, she heard it. That gentle click of the old rusty lock, and then a scattering of feet. Coraline straightened herself up, and gently pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black; the curtains were drawn against the big silver moon, and every light had blinked out of existence. Coraline pressed her right hand against the wall, running it up and down against the door frame, searching for a light switch. Finally she found it, and applied downward pressure onto the cold plastic notch. It abruptly levered in its bed, and the harsh light flooded the room. And there was Wybie. Not super tall, super lanky Wybie that Coraline had been familiar with not hours ago, but hunch-backed, five-foot-two, twelve-year-old stalker Wybie, about six months prior to a mouth full of metal. He shied away from the light, huddled in the corner of this puzzling, bizarre room of his. A black sheet was pulled up around him, shrouding his face and half his body completely from view. Coraline searched for his eyes, but they did not meet. So, two fingers still on the light switch, she tossed it back up again.

The room was consumed by darkness, and guided only by her superlative hearing; Coraline got down on her hands and knees, and began a slow steady crawl in Wybie's general direction. She drew closer and closer, and she heard his rapid, uneasy breathing quicken still. She could sense him right there in front of her, and so Coraline lurched back on her knees, propped up by her feet. Her skinny child's arms extended out in front of her, and brushed the boiling beetroot skin of Wybie's face. He repulsed at her touch, but she quickly found him again, and forcefully clamped her freezing hands against his cheeks. She heard him draw in a startled gasp of air, and it seemed he had stopped breathing as she began to blindly run her fingers about his face. They locked into his hair and tousled it playfully, before drawing closer towards the strong bridge of his nose. Her fingers curled lightly against his cheeks, Coraline ran the tip of her thumb along Wybie's bottom eyelid. Yes, they were still there. She breathed a sigh of relief; his round, dark, curious eyes were untouched in their sockets.

Suddenly, her hands jerked away, and locked themselves firmly on his upper arms, she tugged Wybie to his feet, and dragged his protesting body towards the doorway, With one arm looped underneath both his armpits, Coraline reached up and yanked down at the light switch, plunging to the floor and dragging Wybie down with her. He landed heavily on her stomach, still flailing and kicking, but he didn't make a sound. The light rendered them both dazed for several long seconds, before Coraline let her eyes adjust. Wybie stopped kicking, and instead tried to retreat back to the sheet that had been dragged halfway across the room. Coraline, who still had a decent grip on him, pulled his torso back towards hers. He lay, defenceless, half across her stomach. There was nothing to shield his face, and now Coraline drew his eyes to meet hers. They lay there, just staring.

"You too, huh?" Coraline smiled awkwardly, propping herself up on her elbows. Wybie, who had now realised just where he was lying, scrambled off of her, and sat with his knees clamped to his chest, staring at her. Finally, he spoke.

"Th-this is just… weird…" he whispered. "I hate looking like this."

Coraline laughed dryly; that random expression of bitter contempt was alien to her child's voice box. It was something she often did when asked about her book. It was an old, dry laugh. "You and me both," was its accompaniment. "I mean, look at us – we're pre-pubescent!"

Wybie laughed too, only he sounded so much more genuine. There was that smile again, the one that Coraline had missed so much. "So…" said he, "I guess you're not j-just a nut job after all."  
"Hey!" Coraline threw herself forward, and landed a swift punch to Wybie's right shoulder. He rubbed it meekly, as she stared him down. "You were there that night," she reminded him. "You saw that hand; it almost threw you down a well for God's sake!"

"I always thought it was just some k-kooky dream."

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong!" Coraline gestured out the window, and Wybie followed in the general direction of her harsh gaze. "The hand got out of the well, and now it's back on that evil witch's arm. She brought us here, and she sent us all the way back twenty freakin' years!"

"Calm down, Jonesey," Wybie said slowly. "D-don't get carried away. We need to find a way home first."

"If you haven't guessed already, there aren't too many of those!" Coraline ranted. "God, I'm eleven years old, and I'm having wicked nicotine cravings!" She laced her fingers into her hair, and ruffled it fiercely. Wybie stared at her.

"W-well, if you got outta here before, there's b-bound to be some way of getting free. What about the way we came?"

"Through the door?" Coraline mused. "No, it's locked. And the Other Mother has the key."

Wybie thought for a moment, but the harsh clockwork of his brain drew no conclusions. Shakily, he drew to his feet, and staggered across to the tiny skylight window above a polished desk adorned with various insects in jars. He turned to Coraline, who in turn picked herself up, and grinned at her. "Hey," he said. "I don't wanna stay here much longer, if that's okay with you. I-I think we should start looking."

* * *

By the time it had begun to rain, they had been moving for some time. Coraline and Wybie had together searched the small, isolated world for any signs of an escape, but to no avail. If the world were normal, the sky above would be grey and a golden border would be appearing just behind the trees amongst which they were standing. But, being a fabricated web of lights and hollowness, the stars never grew tired, and were never abolished by dark grey cloud (that by right should be there). Or would it really look like that? Coraline had lost track of time; here, time and logic held no meaning against the malicious sorcery that oozed from every molecule. Tiny, perfect droplets descended upon them from the blackness that drew above and all around them, and the ground began to grow sodden and filthy. Coraline grumbled as a harsh onslaught of rain trickled down her face; she was being summoned back to the house.

"I was just thinking," Wybie struggled to keep up with his friend as she took harsh, uneven steps back the way they had come. She mumbled in acknowledgement, but kept her eyes set on the glittering roof of the Pink Palace. "Can… can she.. It… you know.."

Coraline stopped in her tracks, and leaned against the nearest crooked tree. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, wound her right leg across to her left, and pursed her lips at Wybie. "Can she, what?"

Wybie wrung his hands, avoiding her harsh, probing glare. She began to drum her spindly fingers on the wrist of her other hand, a hybrid gesture of boredom and the disapproval of his wasting so much precious time. Finally, he dropped his head, and pursued onwards past her towards the house. Just as his lopsided shoulder brushed hers, her arm flung out and barricaded his path. Following the soaking yellow gleam from her fingertips, to her shoulder, up her soft white neck and weaving up the harshly beautiful regions of her face, his nervous eyes met with hers.

"Out with it, Wybie."

"I-It's nothing." He tried to step around her outstretched arm, but in a colourful, obscure blur she had whipped around him and was now firmly planted in his path, hands on hips and playfully determined.

"It totally isn't nothing," she smirked. "Anything could be helpful right about now."

Wybie leaned back and stared at the artificial star scape above them, only to have his head ushered down to its neutral stance as the freezing rain pelted his face, causing him to splutter and gag. Coraline looked at him, a half-smile twinkling on the corners of her mouth, but her eyes were beady and devoid of emotion. Wybie could tell that if he tried to evade her again, he'd acquire another glowing bruise.

"I… it's pretty stupid, but…" he stammered.

"Come on!" she egged him on, encouraging the flow of his thoughts from his furry, disoriented brain down and across his tongue. Wybie looked at her pleadingly, then lowered his voice to an almost incomprehensible whisper.

"Can she… can the witch _die_?"

Coraline's smiled immediately vanished, and the guard of her arms fell to her sides. She whirled around away from Wybie, and her straight legs carried her onwards, her torso bending and snaking, like a scarecrow sways when untethered from his support. Her voice was distant and dreamy; with a razor-sharp edge should anyone dare examine her words too carefully. "I… thought I'd finished her off before," said she. "But I guess I was wrong. Maybe… maybe she can't die after all."

"I wouldn't be so sure," this voice was neither Coraline's nor Wybie's and both children were alarmed at its disembodied contribution to the conversation. Coraline froze, her leg suspended in mid-air. She slowly dropped it, using the momentum to spin around on the spot. Wybie's face was ghostly white, the nerve below his eye dancing and twitching uncontrollably. For a moment, they both wondered whether the monster had been spying on them all this time. But each breathed a sigh of long-awaited relief when a crooked shadow danced across the waving trees, two azure orbs resting upon its strong cheekbones. The cat looked down on their expressions with aloof amusement, and leapt gracefully onto the ground between the still, silent duo. "Magic, after all, is unpredictable."

"The cat is t-t-talking!" Wybie looked horrifically at the animal, who stared at him back with a look of pure mirth on its haggard features. Dignified and calculating as it was, the way it tapped its tail impatiently against the gnarled roots of the tree said plainly, '_well, duh'_. Coraline, who silently said a word of thanks to whoever was responsible for the cat's being here, edged closer to the animal, comforted by the knowing security of its voice. She hadn't heard it since that incident, understandably, but she often used it as a conscience to overpower the ill-put-together thoughts of her own. She smiled warmly at the cat, and in turn it staggered over to her, quaking and arching its spine against her legs.

"Good to see you again, cat," she said, lifting it into her arms.

"That cat…. It j-just…." Wybie pointed at the animal, silently accusing it of being some kind of demon. "It can't… it never…." But he knew as well as the cat knew himself, that its twisted feline vocal chords could indeed extract the tones and sounds of the human alphabet. Even though the boy had never physically heard the smooth, jazzy voice of the cat, he was sure he had imagined it somewhere. The cat stared at him, and he dropped his hand.

"Hello, Wybourne," it purred as Coraline's nails rubbed gently at the soft fur behind its ears. "I can't exactly pretend I'm ecstatic to find either of you here – I'd have thought you learned from your mistake." The cat nudged Coraline's chest with its head, and stared up at her with its all-knowing, all-seeing eyes. She smiled down at it apologetically.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "But duty calls."

"Hey," Wybie, who had overcome the initial shock of the talking cat, had drawn closer into the social circle. He now addressed the animal, who looked at him just as Coraline had done.

"Yes?" it said in its old, wise voice.

"You said something before…" began Wybie. "About m-magic. What did you mean?"

"Hey, yeah. Do you know something?" Coraline agreed, repositioning her arms slightly. The cat quivered in her grip, and then leapt from her cradle, landing swiftly on the ground. Both humans blessed it with their full attention.

"Indeed." The cat licked its paw, and gently washed behind its chewed, droopy ear. Finally, it began to speak. "Listen closely, for I am supplying you with vital information. To understand the present situation, you must first know the past, and that is a long, intricate tale."

"So, tell us," Coraline asked. The cat glared at her.

"I asked you to listen, not interrupt." It said. Coraline bowed her head, and mumbled an apology. The cat continued. "The beldam, I imagine you've gathered, is not human. Humans have souls, and no creature such as that can manipulate and devour the way she can with the burden of compassion and conscience."

Wybie took slow, long strides to stand beside Coraline. She grabbed his arm supportively, and urged him to listen to the cat. The rain grew heavier still as the conversation delved darker, and each participant was drawn into the moment.

"Something you must understand," the cat said darkly, "Is that every being, even I, even the rats that lurk about in the shadows, were brought into the world with a soul. The same goes for the beldam; she was once a child, just like you, although that was a long, long time ago.

"Her and I are as old as each other. I remember the day I first saw her; she was no older than you, possibly younger. A sweet child, with a large, bright mind. Her parents had bought me as a gift for their only child, and I was her sole companion. I was her comfort when her parents could not be, and until the end of her childhood she depended upon me. She loved me.

"This child had a gift, and it made her more than human. It was a blessing bestowed unto her by neither parent, but it was truly fabulous. She was special; she could charm and cast and fabricate anything, manipulate the world around her, animate lifeless objects. When she was alone, she could create friends from the light that filtered in her bedroom window. Her parents knew of the gift; but did not approve. Because back in our time, such powers were seen as marks of evil. So that is why they were drawn all the way out here, into the middle of nowhere. To shelter their only child from the accusing eyes of others, to keep her in isolation. That was about the time that she created this world, that we're standing in.

"She filled it with everything that had once made her happy: the friends she had left behind, a beautiful landscape filled with endless joys and comforts, and a house all of her own. It was all hers, and it went on and on, and she was happy there.

"Then, when she began to transition into an adult, something went horribly wrong. One afternoon, without warning, her pre-occupied parents left her behind. She remained in that house, discarded and forgotten, for days on end, and in time even I could not keep her warm. Her parents never did return for her; I always suspected that the power their child possessed grew too much of a burden. And as a result of their disappearance, the beldam's heart turned to ice and shattered.

"Her beautiful, complex mind receded into the shadows that drifted at its borders, and she grew less and less like her old self. Everything inside and out began to waste away, and fragments of her placid existence fizzled and died like the light of a candle. She began to contort into a hideous monster. With each passing day, more and more of her true self began to lose itself within her wild, unloving shell. She began to create small animals in her world and set them loose across the dying fields of nettles, and when she caught them she'd pin them down and relish in their screeching pleas as a white hot needle pierced their eyes. Once done, she'd set them free again, disoriented and afraid, blinded and course, unable to live much longer. With buttons for eyes.

"Her cruel disposition became her life, and soon the beldam would not leave the world she had created. She discarded her harsh reality and threw me out of it, for I reminded her too greatly of her parents. I remember fleeing the world with a needle embedded in my face, just below my eye, and the sickening screams of my former master echoing down the magical hallway after me. And for centuries I drifted around the woods, never dying, and all the while feeling the beast's wrath leak from every particle.

"Years later, the settlers came to this land, and built over the wreckage of the beldam's world. I could feel her writhing in their as the slow labour concealed her invisible haven, and the idle tantrum she had been consumed with for so long was finally erupting. I watched from the trees as family after family inhabited the home, and I did try to warn the children that were called by her web. They too were just animals to her, just insignificant toys she took pleasure inflicting terror on. I tried to show them the way back home, tried to deter them from her path, but the ignorance and greed and gullibility of the young souls were too weak. They became prey for the monster that had become.

"And then there was you, Coraline. You, who refused to be enticed by her endless beckoning. The fuel you denied her by not succumbing to her almost put her in the grave. Alas, love and determination alone cannot defeat the blackest of arts. You buried her key and her hand in a place not created by man, a place where she could survive and regenerate. And now that she has healed, she has reverted to her old ways. The little girl that had come waltzing into her trap not a week ago has given her new strength, and now that she has just rejuvenated she's out for you. Both of you.

"She has more strength than before, and she is determined to consume you."

The cat stood, and broke the transfixed enchantment he had cast upon Coraline and Wybie. They looked uncertainly on as the animal arched its back, and made its way back up to the tree top. "I must away," it said, "For she is now aware of my presence in this universe. But remember," warned the cat. "Every beast has its weakness." With that, the animal slinked into the shadows, and was lost among them.


	5. Chapter 5

Glistening, perfect droplets dangled like orbs of glass from the spindly fingers of the trees, and the pale moon above them lit up the soaking forest like a shimmering other-worldly parade. The rain had shied away and the air had thickly moistened, sending uncomfortable shockwaves up the children-sized spines of two pint-sized adults. Their faces mocked each other's expressions, an eyebrow cocked bewilderedly and an alarmed, twisted half moon smile gracing their freezing cheeks. One Wybourne Lovat, aged thirty-two and going on thirteen, mechanically turned his head to observe his utterly confused female companion.

"What is that even supposed to mean?" he asked her desperately.

Coraline Jones, the plucky, fierce blue-haired heroine, let her eyes drift up to meet his. She shrugged her shoulders, and apathetically swung herself to land squarely seated on a tree stump. "I," she said honestly, "Have no idea."

Wybie frowned, and anxiously sat down next to her. Coraline relaxed into his side, gently rested her head on his crooked shoulder as it bowed humbly towards her. She stared up at him, and a light, unsure smile crossed his face. She returned it as best she could, as her insides churned and writhed.

"I guess," she said softly. "We have to think extra hard. Find the moral of the story, you know."

"Like that time in English when we had to read for s-s-symbolism?"

"And all you did was circle entire passages and write 'hinted Satanism' and 'White Supremacy' throughout the course?"

Wybie chuckled, remembering his misadventures in the old, dusty classroom, and the large provocative bruise on his temple that had shone like a beacon for weeks after his grandma had seen the harsh red _D_ on his report card. "Yeah. Never was any good at it."

"Of course," Coraline shifted her head, then slowly eased it back so that her gaze targeted the moon overhead. "That's all in our future now."

"Wh-what?" Wybie looked at her, utterly confused. Then his distracted, frantic brain did the slow calculation. "Oh. Yeah. I F-forgot."

"How could you forget?" she breathed. "This is… a nightmare. _My_ nightmare."

Wybie repositioned, so that her soft, light head of hair rested in the crook of his neck. In an agonizingly slow motion, one quivering hand ghosted up the slender curve of her spine, and slowly came to rest on her arm, drawing her warm body closer to his. "It really isn't all bad," he replied squarely. "I dunno why, but I just f-feel so… at ease."

"Now that you mention it," chirped Coraline's high, feminine voice, "I don't think I need a cigarette anymore."

A phantom hand had somehow winded its way around Wybie's waist, a firm grasp pressing into the dampness of his coat. He tensed, almost snapping his own protective arm away from her. But the burn of surprise washed away, and the remnants being a pleasant tingle encouraged his limb to remain decisively planted just where it was. Together in silence, the two connected on a near-telepathic level, undisturbed by nature, nor rat, nor the monster that could look anywhere and everywhere. Nothing made sense, they concurred, and although a soft word and an everlasting embrace was comforting enough it could not save them from an eternity of being neither alive nor at rest. For all her wisdom and creativity, Coraline's analytical thinking couldn't piece together any kind of solution. She remembered the dead children, who had assisted her in her first escape from this complex prison, and their faces that had seemed almost as if they were hallucinations loomed out of the darkness that circulated throughout her mind. But now they were free, in a place beyond this reality and the one beyond that, and they were finally at rest, and they could see. They weren't hear to guide her anymore, and she had no more challenges to offer. With each passing moment, Coraline was tumbling further and further into dislodged insanity, and before long she'd be trapped behind that cold, disloyal mirror for ever and always.

But then, it hit her.

"I have to go back to the house!" Coraline reluctantly uncurled herself from Wybie's embrace, and rocketed into the woods. Behind her, she could hear his dumbstruck cry of surprise, and then the heavy thudding of his sneakers mimicking her tracks. The sickly, glistening candy manor grew nearer and more defined as the trees peeled away and tapered along the edges of the grounds, and snippets of a cheerful, luminous garden were just visible beyond the polished pink boards.

Then all of a sudden, she was face first in the mud. A dead weight forced her to the ground, sitting limply up her back. Two shaking arms laid themselves on either side of her waist, and four feet were entwined amongst the pristine undergrowth. Coraline groaned in pain, screwing her face up against the dull, throbbing ache that now circulated underneath her amazingly intact skin. Her lungs felt tired and wheezy, and each rib prodded them awkwardly. Coraline tried to lever herself from the ground, but that motionless anvil that sent her crashing into the earth stayed mounted on her back. It grumbled.

"Get off me, you spaz," Coraline hissed. Every inch of her felt heavy as she lamely thrashed her legs, pounding her feet into his stupid, clumsy shins. He kicked back, and so she kicked even harder. "Seriously, get off!" With all her strength, Coraline wrenched her shoulder from the ground and flopped over, sending Wybie's heavy old self onto the ground beside her. He slipped from her back easily and lay there, coughing and groaning, and she rolled back onto her stomach, and glowered at him from behind the thick sheet of mud that obscured her vision.

"What the hell was that for?" Coraline wheezed ferociously.

Wybie turned to look at her, pleading desperately against her thickening fist. "I… I just… t-tripped, is all…"

"You just tripped, and happened to land both your arms around my midriff?"

"Shut up."

Coraline laughed dryly.

"While we're down here," Wybie pursued a conversation. "Why did you need to go b-back… there?"

"Oh!" Coraline raised her eyebrows, and hoisted herself into a more comfortable position. Nothing was really comfortable at that precise moment, given that every cell in her entire body had the pressure of a million nuclear bobs on its shoulders. But she managed to wriggle her way onto Wybie's heaving chest, and rest her head there as she addressed him.

"I remembered that girl. You know, the one that went missing? Nut job for a mother?"

"M-Molly?"

"Yeah! That's her! I feel bad for forgetting. But she can help us right now."

Wybie lay in silence for a few moments, partly because her statement confused him greatly, but largely due to the fact that Coraline Jones was resting quite peacefully against him now. They were so close he could feel her fluttery heart pounding away – or was that just his? Right now, it could pump a sufficient amount of blood to keep them both alive for many years to come. If it hadn't been for the rave party going on within the confines of his ribcage, this would have been the most perfect, serene moment painted by his fantasy. Then without warning, Coraline straightened her spine, and relieved her comforting weight from his torso.

"I have to go back now," she said decidedly. "I have to find that girl. If you're coming, get the hell up. If you're not, go sew some buttons in your eyes."

This time, her steps were slow, careful and purposeful, and within each one her authoritative rage grouped and recruited. Wybie bundled up the thoughts he had carelessly scattered amongst the fallen leaves, and trailed along behind her.

The house rose before them, a sickly sweet gingerbread monolith that hung in the royal sky. The porch lights were on; all around the house, a warm orange aura drew attention to every movement, leaving no shadow beyond the boards. The front door leered at them, as Coraline curled her unsteady fingers around the freezing knob. Taking a long deep breath as if she were about to plummet into disastrously murky waters, she forced the door open and swept inside with Wybie in her wake.

At once, the inviting scent of flowers enveloped them, snaking in smoky, invisible tendrils around the house. Despite the blind darkness that surrounded the exterior of the house, the room was lit by unfiltered sunlight. A long red rug slid its way up the hall, and the floorboards were freshly polished. From the kitchen, came a harmonious, cheerful humming.

They traipsed down the hallway, Coraline taking care to drag her heels along the rich scarlet rug. Behind her lay jutted trails of thick, grey magic mud. She sniggered deviously.

In the kitchen, the Other Mother was flitting about with a feather duster, idly whispering it over each surface before prancing gracefully to the next, and then setting it down to peer into the big silver pot that sat on the stove. Her stolen, artificial voice easily glided over each note, flowing into the next, and it reminded Wybie of the voices one hears in films, travelling up a darkened, eerie corridor, and then lost souls whisper something incomprehensible all around you. It was haunting, hypnotizing, and could easily be the siren's melody that summoned the apocalypse.

Coraline cleared her throat loudly and sauntered into the kitchen, kicking off her shoes by the door and curling her legs under her on the harsh wooden seats. Wybie stood behind her, his arms resting on the back of the chair. The Other Mother abruptly ceased her musical charade, and leaned against the sink. Her endless, bottomless, all-seeing black button eyes bore into them, their expressionless glare clashing dramatically with her warm red-lipped smile.

"Welcome home, dear," she cooed. "I see you brought a friend. Will you be joining us for lunch, Wybie?"

Wybie shifted uncomfortably, and dropped his gloved hand to Coraline's shoulder. She shifted in her seat, and he quickly removed it. "Uh… L-lunch? It's still n-night." With the hand that had been resting on Coraline's shoulder, he gestured to the spotless window, where the great silver orb hung. The Other Mother didn't follow his finger; a forced bout of tinkling laughter issued from her mouth, and she returned to the stove.

"It's always night here," she remarked. Taking a delightful chicken-shaped oven glove from the countertop, she drew the lid from the steaming pot, and buried her face in the vapour. The scent that expelled from within the gleaming iron maiden appeased her greatly, as did it to Coraline and Wybie. Coraline hadn't eaten since that night with Wybie: how long had it been now? Days? Weeks? Mere hours? But pangs of hunger surfaced form deep inside her intestine, as she wondered if she'd ever taste pizza like that again.

"This place is confusing.." Wybie mumbled.

Coraline gathered up all her bravado, momentarily ignoring her body's plea for food, and confidently addressed the Other Mother. "You offered me breakfast, like, half an hour ago," she sneered. "Isn't it a bit early to be slaving away over another meal?"

"Nonsense!" the Other Mother appealed. "Everlasting darkness has its upsides; there is no set time. We can eat whenever you choose. And I assume you're hungry; you look so skinny! When did you last eat?"

Coraline laughed dryly. "I'm watching my figure. Anywho, we're off. Have to go and talk to that girl you murdered recently." She swung her legs from beneath the table and rose gracefully to her feet, catching Wybie on her arm as she did so. She dragged him out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and before either of them knew exactly what had happened they'd stopped dead again.

The Other Mother stood, clearly agitated, exactly where Coraline wanted to go. Behind the towering, vicious puppet master was an old ornate mirror, Coraline's (and Molly Malloy's) final destination. Wybie peered around the woman's impatient stance and glared at his reflection. He and Coraline stood reflected, side by side. And nobody else.

"Age has definitely not been kind to your tongue, Coraline." A flaming red heel tapped sternly at the carpet, and two shiny four-holed eyes stared the girl down. The Other Mother had an icy, displeased edge to her voice. It desperately tried to be authoritative, but really sounded nothing more than the nasally whine of a child in the heat of a tantrum. Coraline sneered, and took a daring step forward. So did the Other Mother. Wybie was getting a tad freaked out.

"Oh, I'm sorry, _Mom_," said Coraline. "But I'm not a kid anymore. No matter how much freaky magic you pull down on me." She took another step forward. "Now, if you please, step aside."

"_Don't push your luck with me, girl_," hissed the beldam. A dark cloud passed above her head, and with the silent invisible rain that trickled down unto her, the beast became less and less convincing, and more animalistic.

Coraline's heart beat quickened in pace. It thudded demonically against her sternum, trying to haul itself upwards and block the girl's mouth. But she let a self-confident smile mask the internal tango, and she pursued her case. "I'm not afraid of you. I kicked your ass all the way to the middle of the earth once before, and your little hissy fit won't stop me doing it again. And don't let my lunch burn; I'm kinda hungry, now that you mention it." she flicked an angry, mocking finger at the Other Mother's chest, and the woman lurched back slightly. Her face twisted into a snarl of contempt.

The Other Mother's vicious red claws slipped into her skirt pocket, and drew out a tiny silver key on a thin, wispy chain. She let it dangle from her finger, and lowered the key into Coraline's awaiting palm. "It works on both sides." her voice was dry and emotionless.

"Thank you. Now, don't you have other motherly things to do?" Coraline, quick as anything, snapped her hand closed around the key, With one swift tug, the chain slipped delicately from around the Other Mother's finger and fluttered down against her knuckles. She lowered her clasped fist, and shoved it into her pocket. Then the Other Mother transitioned silently into the kitchen, and the hallway awaited.

Wybie and Coraline stood at the end of the long, cool passage and stared at themselves in the flawlessly clean mercury. Their faces were drenched in shadow, brows wrinkled in confusion, mouths twisted into ever-changing expressions of internal calculation. Wybie ran his hand around the mirror frame; it was solid and cold and expertly carved, and had no notch, hole or opening.

"We're meant to go… behind there?" he enquired, following his own reflection.

Coraline pressed a hand against the mirror, dragging a foggy smear in its wake. She frowned, and held the key up to the glass. "Yup." She replied abruptly. "This isn't an ordinary mirror. There's a room behind it. _Inside_ it."

Wybie nodded slowly. "Then… where's the key meant to go?"

Coraline raised her eyebrows, and rummaged through an old chest of abandoned memories. Finally, at the very bottom in forgotten secret compartment, there they were. Bound together with theoretical twine and so very, very old. Coraline had always thought she'd disposed of these memories long ago, but it seems that she'd accidentally held on to them for whatever reason. But that was okay; she needed them now.

Taking a long, deep, nervous breath, Coraline plunged the key half way into the mirror. The glass did not shatter; rather, it rippled around the key, as if the mirror were a liquid barrier penetrated by a tiny stone. She turned the key clockwise; there was no resistance. It moved freely as if nothing was there, and then it clicked solidly into place. The entire body of the glass faltered, pixellated and dissolved, and then it was still. Suddenly the hand she had rested against the freezing, blemish-free glass gave way, and plunged into the mirror. Her torso full with it, and the reflective curtain consumed her entire form.

Coraline dragged herself on her elbows through the glass, into the old rusty gloom of the secret tomb. It was almost intolerably cold in there, like a meat freezer, or a cellar. She picked herself up and gazed around the cramped space, but she could barely see her own hand hovering in front of her face. There was a noise behind her, like that of ice shattering. A spindly web of broken surface tension burst from the base of the mirror, and Wybie's head was illuminated as it passed through. In his tightly-wound fist he held the little silver key; Coraline yanked at his wrists to aid him into the room, and it dropped silently into her palm. They both stood, side by side but invisible to one another in the swirling dark, the only sounds being their anxious, terrified breathing.

"C-Coraline?" whispered Wybie shakily. "I can't see. Have you got a light?"

"No," she replied, blindly groping along the freezing walls. "Help me look for a light, will y-" her sentenced was cut off with a shriek and a dull thud. Coraline had caught her foot on something in the darkness, and came crashing down on top of it. But it was neither solid nor sturdy, or even damp and decayed. It was fragile, and rigid, and freezing. Coraline hauled herself onto her knees and ran her fingers across this alien surface. She felt cotton, maybe a sheet covering something. And then there was that cold thing again, a dry porcelain form. She ran her hands across its dips and crevices and contours, and although she knew exactly what it was, it took her until she reached a matted mop of silk-fine hair that she snatched her hands away; they were needed to cover her gaping mouth which was threatening to release a wail of shock, disgust and pity.

Then, a light flickered into existence. It wasn't so much a light, as a shadow of one, moving among the darkness. It was barely there, but there it was, a faint blue outline that stood like a negative print against its blackness. Coraline stood up, taking slow, deliberate steps away from the corpse on the floor. Because it's soul was here. It was the ghost of Molly Malloy.

Coraline could tell that she hadn't been dead for long; probably two days, at the very most. The ghost still had a little colour, and she still resembled the dimly-illuminated body in the corner. Her mousy hair hung about her shoulders, framing the gaunt, thin face sewn into an eternal grimace of torturous pain. The blood was still fresh on her face; dried tracks drenched by new tracks, issuing from four tiny little holes, seeping from underneath the cold black plastic. A faint aura was emanating from her almost imaginary apparition; it cast faint blue shadows about the room, and Wybie used it to guide himself to Coraline's side.

A distant voice floated about the room, rustling Coraline's hair and looping around her body. "Are you… real?" The room great colder; Coraline wrapped herself in Wybie's comforting embrace to shield herself from the room's deadness.

"Yes." She replied softly. "You're Molly, aren't you?"

The girl let a ghost of a smile slip to her features, and she opened her mouth wide in a silent gasp. "You know my name… is my mommy there too?"  
"Your mother is very worried about you," replied Coraline. She cast a momentary glance at the corpse curled on the floor, and then back at Molly's ghost. Molly looked forlorn as she peered down at her mortal skin.

"I miss her… my real mom… but I can't see her anymore. I can't see anything, much."

Coraline frowned, and extended a hand to wipe the bloodied tears from the girl's face. It was like trying to grasp mist; her finger slipped right through Molly's face. Molly drew a hand to her button eyes, and prodded one gingerly. "I didn't mean to come back here…" she said. "But she had the buttons on my eyes before I knew what was happening…"

"Don't blame yourself." Said Coraline. "She almost had me, too, and three others before you. She was so beautiful… it's hard to mistake her for something good."

Molly peered at her quizzically. "Beautiful…?" she asked. "I never saw anything beautiful of her."

"Then... what happened to you?"

Molly turned away, and stared around the room. Then she perched herself on an old, rusty bed, and let her distant voice drift once again.

"There's a well out in the woods, you know. I found it one day when I was picking cherry blossoms. Then I heard this tapping… and scraping, kinda. So I follow it out into a clearing, and I can see the house from there, and I'm following this noise. And it's coming from the ground. So I dig around, and I found..."

Coraline tiptoed towards the girl and out of Wybie's arms. She sat down next to the weightless spirit, and gently encouraged her to continue. Molly looked at her pleadingly, her brow forcibly furrowed from the painful round discs stitched into her otherwise adorable face. Then, she hung her tired, throbbing head, and spoke to nobody in particular.

"The wood was all bloated and old and slimy, and there was a hole in it. I couldn't see anything though, it was too dark. But the scratching and tapping was coming from the other side of the wood, so I got a big stick from the woods and I was levering it up. I got it up about halfway, when suddenly this… _thing_ scuttles out, and I scream and drop the wood. I was backing away from it, and I tripped over. Then it disappears down the hill, and it was dragging… a key.

"So I go back to the house later that afternoon, and the door's wide open. I go inside and follow a trail of mud down the hall and into the living room, and the end table, the one against the wall, it's tipped over, and the sunflowers are all over the floor. Then… I see this hole in the wall. Only, it isn't a hole, because when I go up close to it, it's a door. And there's nothing in there, except cobwebs and black. My mom's not home, so I figure I'll go in there, and explore the other apartment. Only, when I get there, it isn't an apartment. It's my house. But everything is wrecked and ruined and empty.

And then I hear this hissing sound, coming from upstairs. I follow it up there, and then at the very end of the hall, where the spare bedroom is meant to be, there's this old sewing room. And… and…"

Molly squealed, and Coraline lurched off the bed. The ghost flitted about the room frantically, and Coraline took several quick paces backward. Wybie stood next to her, trying to say something, anything. But he couldn't; he was too focused on the wailing fiery blue demon that threw itself about the cramped space, and Coraline, who had pressed herself against his chest.

Suddenly, Molly was gone. Just like that, she shifted from existence, and the two were once again plunged into darkness. Coraline turned herself around, and lingered centimetres from Wybie's face.

"Th-that was… weird…" he breathed. Coraline chortled quietly.

"That's what you get in this place. Sick, twisted, evil weirdness. And I want to leave."

"Yeah, it's getting kinda awkward here in the dark."

Coraline, who was still clutching the key, stepped blindly into the dark until her fist brushed against the freezing glass. She fumbled with the key until the end once again slid into the glass, and that peculiar rippling once again occurred. She reached for Wybie's hand, and guided him out into the hallway.

At first it was difficult adjusting to the light. The corridor was warm and bathed in a false golden light, which came from seemingly nowhere. In the kitchen was the animated sound of bustled cooking, accompanied by the rich aroma of a creamy, salty soup. The Other Mother had calmed down and returned to her happy place. Once again her melodious humming drifted down the hallway on the delicious steam of lunch, and Coraline suddenly did feel rather hungry.

She and Wybie cautiously entered the kitchen. The table was set for four, and one place was already inhabited. There sat the Other Father, the kind but weak soul who gave his last breath to Coraline's safety the last time she had encountered him. But here he was, rejuvenated and in perfect form, donning his outrageous, jazzy attire. The Other Mother sauntered over to him, and gently laid down a steaming white bowl of soup in front of him, before brushing a hand casually over his shoulder. She looked up at Coraline, and smiled.

"I do hope you enjoyed your little excursion," she said, all traces of anger and malice forgotten. "You're just in time for lunch. Pull up a chair, why don't you, darling? And you're welcome to stay too, Wybourne." The Other Mother returned to her station at the stove, as she plunged a polished silver ladle into the pot. It came out glistening and smelling delicious, and then it spilled its milky contents into another of the bowls. Coraline and Wybie apprehensively made their way over to the table, and sat opposite each other.

The Other Father smiled warmly at Coraline. "Hey, welcome back kiddo!" he said cheerfully. "Haven't seen you in years. And you don't look a day older; hasn't your Mother done a great job?"

Coraline snorted. "Oh yeah, I'm real thrilled to be dragged back into Hell and kept here against my will. And you better not drug me, or poison me!" this time she addressed the Other Mother, whose back was currently turned. She whipped around, carrying another two bowls of soup to the table. She placed it down in front of Coraline, and leered at her through the steam.

"Oh, honey! Why would I ever do that? Now, you two, eat your soup before it gets cold."

Coraline scowled at her, and Wybie prodded his soup gingerly. The Other Mother returned to the table with her own lunch, and gracefully inhabited the seat between Wybie and Coraline. She sat in silence, churning her spoon through the food, but never once bringing it to her lips. The Other Father tried to engage Coraline in conversation, but each time was snubbed, and so returned to his food.

Once the entire table had descended into a non-speaking, non-moving mess, the makeshift parents gathered the dishes together, and placed them in the bubbling sink. Coraline and Wybie bundled themselves out of the house, and sat together on the porch in the deep blue midnight hour.

"Hey, Jonesy?" Wybie drew his voice out of retirement. It had seemed millennia since he had used it, and at times when it was most needed it had lay dormant.

Coraline didn't look at him as she spoke. She kept her eyes fixedly on the woods, scanning them for movement of the smallest variety. "Mhm?"

"Wh-what's with the buttons? They're everywhere… and they're creeping me out."

"What? OH." Coraline thought or a moment, closing her own eyes while they delved into the furthest reaches of her clockwork brain. "I suppose… well, the beldam – the Other Mother, I mean – eats souls. She lives off them. And, like that saying goes, the eyes are the window to the soul."

"No eyes, no soul."

"I guess so."

"So…" Wybie edged a little closer to Coraline, and drew his eyes to her. Hers retired from their lookout session, and met his. They were full of anguish, and they were tired. But, unlike his, they showed no signs of aging.

"Yeah? Spit it out."

"How… are we gonna g-get home?"

Coraline sighed, and let her head fall onto his shoulder. Wybie leaned into her comfortable, easy weight, taking his supporting arm from the porch step and taking her body in it. She breathed slowly and deeply, and they both quested internally for a solution to the question he had posed. Both minds were swimming but both mouths were silent. Finally, Coraline whispered, in a voice barely audible, "I don't know."

"Coraline?" The soft, mocking voice beckoned the two to turn around. They jerked apart, and shifted about twenty centimetres away from each other. Coraline glanced tiredly over her shoulder, to meet the gaze of the Other Mother, who towered over them both in her toxic red heels and her slim black skirt.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

The Other Mother folded her arms, and leaned against the open doorway. "I just came out to tell you that it's time to turn in for the night. Wybie, I expect your grandmother will be asking after you."

"You can't tell us what to do!" Coraline fired back. "We're talking. Privately. As adults."

"And you can continue your conversation later." Stabbed the Other Mother. "Now Wybourne, run along home. Coraline and I have some things to discuss."

Coraline glared pleadingly at Wybie, who simply shrugged in defeat. He rose from the step, and jumped down to the bottom. Whirling around, he shot her an apologetic frown, and then skulked off into the dark. Coraline arose also, and strode proudly past the Other Mother into the house.

The door banged closed behind them, and Coraline wheeled around in surprise. Their stood her Other Father with a pained expression on his face. She looked, horrified, from him to the Other Mother, who simply stood apathetically. Before she had a chance to scream, the Other Father had clapped a hand over her mouth and nose, and extended an arm around hers, binding her together. She struggled against him, pleading silently for him to let go. She squirmed and wriggled and kicked and flailed, but shrunk back as the Other Mother approached them. In her left hand was a silk black handkerchief, and in her right was a small green bottle. She covered the open vial with her handkerchief and doused it in whatever the contents was, and then drew ever closer to Coraline, and placed it forcefully over her nose.

Coraline began to feel drowsy. Her vision swirled and clouded, and the world turned into a swirling mass of hideous colour and pain. The ointment smelled tangy and faintly chemical, with a sugar-coated odour of chocolate and sweetness thrown carelessly on top of it. Like tiny little light bulbs, each individual cell in her brain blinked out of existence, shutting down for however long it would be. She struggled with all her might against the impending paralysis, but the more she tried the less she could move. Coraline crumbled in the grip of the Other Father, as that feral red smile loomed above her.


	6. Chapter 6

_The light was welcome, where she was now, for the dark was infectious and blinding. The rain gave way to them as they sat tranquilly on the outskirts of the forest. Where the house should have been, there was a cluster of tall, winding willow trees, restricting the clutch of the horror within. They sat, watching the trees bend and dance in the sightless wind, and although not a sound came from anywhere in the vicinity her mind buzzed with ambient racket._

"_This isn't real, is it?" her voice was shaky and distant, muffled by the haze that entwined itself in the mist. It seemed disembodied, though she was aware of that peaceful strumming of her vocal chords._

_And then he spoke to her, his voice more grounding and real than anything around her. It was soft and fluid and it held no echo. "No." it said. "It's not real."_

"_Then…" she quizzed. "Why am I here?"_

"_Because you wanted to be here."_

"_I see. Why?"_

"_It's dark outside. And the dark is terrifying. But you have to wake up, Coraline."_

"_But what if I don't want to? What if I want to stay here with you?"_

_Wybie took her hand in both of his, and drew the soft woollen glove from it. He laced his fingers in hers, and melded their hands together. She could feel his eyes on her, but she daren't look._

"_Please, Coraline. Wake up. I'm counting on you. Because this place… it won't stay like this for long."_

_Coraline narrowed her eyes, and her vision rifled through the cluster of the ancient, bowing trees. There was something moving down there in the shadows; its pace quickened, and its formlessness swirled and dodged around the grand old trunks. "I'm not leaving you here, not with that." She said, nodding towards the ominous gloom._

_Wybie sighed, and took his hands from hers. Then his icy, smooth skin brushed her quaking chin, and he cradled her quivering lip. She let her head be guided to him, her eyes studying the rush of leaves and shadows that now crept towards them, steadily, across the ground._

"_Please wake up," he whispered urgently. And then she looked up at him. And her heart stopped. Perched upon his cheekbones were two black, shiny buttons. "Please, Coraline, wake up. Or you'll end up like me."_

And just like that, she was awake. An unpleasant chemical smell lingered around her muzzle, drenched in the sugary sweetness of a toxic coating. Her head was heavy, and her focus hazy, but she was perfectly aware that her nightmare was still contained within another nightmare. The dark outside confirmed it.

Coraline reluctantly turned her aching head toward the window. It was a tiny, dirty thing with a plain brass frame, and a little catch which welded the window shut. Outside there was no moon, no stars, no anything. It was just endless black.

Then she began to study the room. A single oil lamp fizzled and burned away on an old polished wooden bench, where a decorative chest sat locked. A chair of red velvet was tucked underneath; one of its legs was broken.

To the left of that desk pressed against the wall was an ancient-looking loom. The inches of dust that sat upon it were disturbed on the handle, by a fine, pencil-thin set of finger prints. A long black thread wound its way around the contraption, and the end was knotted securely on the spindle.

The rest of the room was bare, but rectangles of pristine wood and wallpaper were dotted about the room, a remnant of the old furniture and photographs which used to inhabit. The plain old door was wide and grey, not like the rich burgundy wood that adorned the rest of the house. It was locked tight.

Coraline pressed her palm against her forehead, and massaged her scalp roughly. Her head was throbbing, and the blood was beginning to circulate once more. She attempted to sit up, but was forced back again by the sheer weight of her torso. And the fact that a heavy, rattling chain bolted her to the wall.

She couldn't find energy to scream; maybe it was the cold, merciless pressure against her throat, or maybe the lack of control her brain provided over her body in this state. But no matter how much she tried, leaving her mouth gaping like a fish, nothing would come, except a croaking, strangulated whispered yelp.

Something occurred to Coraline then. Here she was, at the mercy of a hideous mechanical arachnid, and yet she could see. Her vision was impaired, somewhat, her watery eyes still stinging from the hefty dose of chloroform that had been thrown upon her. But still, her eyes were in no pain. She could see. There were no buttons on her eyes. Silently, she began to weep, and issued a voiceless word of thanks to the universe for protecting her.

Then, the silence of the room was broken. A low clunk, and a rattle, and Coraline whipped her head around to the opposite side of the room. The handle of the door was slowly tilting downward, and the light of the hallway streaming in from the parting of the door from its frame. A tall, distorted silhouette filled the harsh brightness issuing from the world beyond. And then it stepped into the room, and gently closed the world behind it.

The beldam heaved itself a few steps and pulled the chair out from under the table. The beldam spun it around, and took it three paces closer to where Coraline was tethered. The girl tried to edge backwards, but with a dull thud her head hit the empty walls. Her muscles tensed, and she stayed deathly skill.

"Hello, Coraline…" the voice faintly resembled the sing-song tone that had once travelled up that throat, but now it could not even be called human. Two black-button eyes gleamed in the gaunt, cracked face that rested atop a toothpick thin neck, and a set of paper white shoulders were hunched forwards. A smile appeared on the cracked, devilish features of the beldam's sharply defined face, her black lips parted in a triumphant grin.

"It seems you're somewhat restrained."

Coraline furrowed her brow, and spat forcefully on the ground. A trickle of blood hung from her lower lip. "So it would seem." She croaked. "Care to… take this thing off me?"

The beldam cackled, and folded each of her gangly metal legs around one another. "Oh, but this is so fun!" she howled. "All that tough talk, and it seems you're the one in shackles. You're at that age now where a daughter depends less on her mother; the parent is not needed. And sometimes, a child can go a bit wayward. And that's when a loving parent steps in, and uses whatever measure necessary to show the child the error of their ways. Sometimes, you need to do what hurts the most, to achieve the desired result."

"So, what…" Coraline was regaining the use of her voice now, and it came out strong, proud and fearless. "You're scared that I'm gonna kick your ass to hell and back again, so the best you can do is chain me to a wall? For someone who just loves to play games, you're not too abiding of the rules."

The beldam bit her lower lip, and flexed her sharp fingers. She made to get up out of her chair and shake Coraline until she bled, but instead restrained her crooked self. Then she cocked her head to one side, and a menacing, crooked grin ate its way through her cheeks. She stood slowly, and crossed the room to the door. Coraline watched her with narrow eyes.

"It seems I have a previous engagement. Count yourself lucky, girl." The beldam sneered. Coraline raised her eyebrows and strained to swallow a thick pool of blood building up at the back of her throat. She flexed her neck backwards, and let it all rush away.

"Could you at least loosen the damn thing?" she croaked.

The beldam's arm froze upon the door handle, the black glove hanging off her like a long, sodden drape. Each of her four fingers uncurled from the knob, and purposefully rummaged through her skirt pocket. She withdrew a thick copper key, and tossed it carefully so it clunked to the floor, an inch from Coraline's extended reach. "Let yourself out," she hissed. "If you can." And then she left.

Coraline breathed deeply, and arched her back. Her feet, clad in slightly damp, but otherwise comfortable socks, skidded across the old boards. She arched up again, bringing both feet dexterously under her body, and crab-walked them out. Her heels once again gave way, barely centimetres from the key that taunted her from a safe distance. Out of anger and frustration, with just a trickle of hardening defencelessness, Coraline let a warbling, anguished scream rock the entire house.

Up until now, a proud black cat had been gnawing delightedly on a fat grey rat, relishing the sawdust mixed with thick black tar blood as it coated his muzzle. But as a glass-shattering plea ripped through the air, his attention was diverted to the uppermost corner of the sickening pink house. The first thing the cat noticed, was out of the ordinary, was that there was light coming from the singular tiny window up in the corner of the building. It was the beldam's workshop – her retreat, of sorts – which was hardly ever looked upon. The only exceptions were when she was working on a new toy, or on feeding day.

The next thing that cat observed, was the curtains had not been drawn. There was nothing to be seen beyond the house, and the flat rendered background of the world.

And thirdly, and certainly the most alarming, was the sound issuing from the room. A child's scream, no doubt, but with more depth and understanding than a desperate warbling yelp of a minor in peril. It was her for sure. So the cat reluctantly kicked his dinner aside, and darted off into the darkness. He had to find Wybourne.

It wasn't exactly hard. There he was, head over heels in his silly little dazed, blurry world, staring intently at an old framed strip of photographs while he hummed along to the 80's classics CD that blared from a radio on his meticulously-thought out cluttered desk. His window was open, slightly; just enough for a sleek, scrawny and certainly stealthy feline to slip through, and pounce unnoticed upon the boy's messy wet hair.

Wybie dropped the photographs hurriedly, and shoved them back in his coat pocket which lay strewn on the floor. The cat was sitting atop his shoulders, with two paws rested proudly on Wybie's head. The boy grumbled, and swatted at the cat, which leapt down and onto the soft quilted bed. Wybie rolled over, beetroot-faced and disgruntled.

"Wh-what's up?" he asked? "Did you bring me a rat to look at?"

The cat sniffed. If cats had eyebrows in the way humans did, his would have been raised in a superiorly-questioning manner. "As much as I would myself like to indulge in such frivolities," he said. "You and I are needed back at the house."

Wybie rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He then cocked his head over to address the cat. "Why? Did Coraline call me over?"

"Not directly, no." Wybie's face fell. "She more, hollered at the impending doom that has been shackled to her."

"Wait, she's in trouble?" Wybie's torso rigidly jerked itself vertical and he swung his legs onto the floor. Pulling on his muddied sneakers and gloves, Wybie bundled his long black coat up in his arms. The photograph clattered to the floor. He tenderly scooped it back up again, checked it for cracks, and then thrust it into his pocket, fastening it shut. "We have to hurry," he called for the cat as he rocketed down the stairs. "I'm not letting anything hap – …Gramma."

Old Mrs Lovat stood in the hallway, her arms folded impatiently as she tapped her foot on the ground. Her wrinkled brow crouched down low over her button eyes. "And just where do you think you're goin', Wybourne?" she said.

"I… uh… I…" Wybie fumbled and stuttered, his bravado melting away, as the cat circled around his legs, nudging him onwards. He neglected to meet the gaze of his grandmother, even though he knew she wasn't real. He just couldn't.

"You are not leavin' this house, boy." Ms Lovat said sternly. "What's done is done, and let that girl go. Her mother'll make you a new one, one that'll return your feelin's, if that's what you want."

"N-no, that's not what I want." Wybie straightened his back, and towered further over his Other Grandmother. He took a few steps towards her, obliterating any chance of escape she may have for any reason. "Coraline means more to me than anything. Anything. My real gramma is gone, which puts Coraline first. And nothing is gunna stop me from coming to her when she needs me."

The old woman stood indignantly against the wall, staring up into Wybie's stony, dead set expression. She did not waver, for she had nothing to lose. "I am not letting you leave this house, Wybourne." She said. "If you leave, you'll never come back. She'll kill you, and your little girlfriend. Is that really what you want?"

Wybie almost fell back into his old crooked-back habits. He couldn't bear to think of her… dead. He took one deep breath, flexed his abnormally long arms, took a final step forward and apprehended his grandmother.

Mrs Lovat beat frantically at him as he lifted her feet from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, and he bit is lip avidly as she scratched and wailed and pounded at his body. He ignored her screeching demands as he struggled to force her up the stairs, and almost lost his footing on the landing as she nearly got the better of him, and his shoulder slammed into the wall. He kicked open the bathroom door, and tossed the cheap imitation of his family in. She ran at him, but he managed to swing the door closed just in time, and rest his back firmly against the wood as she pounded and scratched at it form the other side. The cat appeared on the floor below, and stared up at him urgently. Wybie launched himself down the stairs, his grandmother bursting from the room behind him, as he sprinted down the stairs, across the living room and out into the fresh night air. He had no time to lose.

Coraline grunted as she tugged again at the 30 centimetres of give she had. The rusty iron chain clunked to the floor as she lay her head down, massaging her neck as far as she could reach. Then she sat halfway up, and tugged again. It felt as though her wrists – and neck – were about to break, but there just had to be a way she could get out. She didn't want to die, not here. When you died here, you never really left.

She struggled to gather back the breath she had wasted, as it frantically escaped her lungs. She gasped and hiccupped as the tears welled up again, and she held them back with all her might. She had to keep going. It wasn't going to end here. She had to see Wybie again, get him out safely…

Then there was a scratching. Coraline froze, mid tug, and shot her vision over at the door. She waited, 1, 2, 3, but the door did not move. The scratching continued. Her head lulled over on its weak bracket and followed the noise intently. There, at the window, shone two icy orbs, a body almost indistinguishable against the black sky. The cat pawed at the window, making shallow gauges in the old dirty glass. She almost called out to him; but remembered the evil that lurked somewhere beyond the room. So instead she stared intently at the cat, and it stared back at her.

The cat knew the window was impenetrable from this side; he was going to need a lot of force to get through. He drew away from Coraline's line of sight, much to her dismay, and swiftly curled down the drainpipe. Wybie was lurking at the house's foundations. "W-well?" he asked.

"I hope you're steady on your feet, because you're needed up there." The cat replied.

Wybie groaned, and looked up at the dauntingly tall 'palace' he was about to scale. But, anything for Coraline.

In close pursuit of the slinky black cat, he fumbled up the drainpipe, clinging for dear life to the wooden support poles. The paint peeled off as he scrabbled across it, and flakes of hideous pink lodged themselves in his hair. It was a feat that nobody saw him; Wybie clumsily commando crawled under the windows on a wing of the roof, the tiles clattering and clinking slightly as he jerked across them. As the windows became scarce, Wybie straightened up, and tip-toed, crouched, to the slightly separate wing of the house, where a tiny rectangle of light glowed in the darkness. The cat leapt up to the sliver of a windowsill, and sat itself down.

Wybie edged across the roof, his back pinned to the clapboard.

"You'll be glad you brought your gloves." It hissed at him. "You're going to need to hit it once, hard. The beldam hears most things."

Wybie nodded, and flexed his fingers, clad in skeletal etchings. Balling up a fist, he wound back, and projected it forcefully through the glass.

It shattered.

The cat leapt through the window, landing clear of the glass that was scattered on the floor. He trotted over to where the big key lay. He gathered it up between his jaws, and transported it over to Coraline, who had her bloodied, tired palms outstretched and waiting.

"Thank you." she whispered as the cat dropped the metal rod into her hands. She fumbled the key around her vicious collar, until it clanked against the lock, and clunked when she turned it, her arm revolving awkwardly backwards in its joint. The device lurched open, and she massaged her skinned red neck. Free at last.

"Come on, now. She probably heard you break the window." Coraline hoisted herself to her feet; slightly unsteady, but able to move. She teetered over to the window, which was embedded in the wall, a few feet above her.

Coraline scanned the room, and hurriedly grabbed the chair that rested neatly at the desk. She toed gingerly through the glass, and laid the chair against the wall, unsteadily clambering on top of it. She thrust her hands through the gaping window, and almost collapsed in shock when a pair of soft, eerie bones clamped themselves around her wrist and tugged her upward, into the night.

Her face was tear-stained and blotchy. Her eyes were swollen and water-logged. Her hair was dirty and matted, and her clothes were ripped. A shiny red grated wound clamped itself on her neck, bleeding from tiny, generously-scattered pinprick holes. But Wybie still found Coraline Jones to be beautiful, and it still made everything right in the world when he locked his arms around her waist and pulled her into a longing embrace.

"Nice… to see you too… Wybie..." Coraline gasped, extending her tired, aching arms around his neck. She caressed his neck and ran her fingers through his hair, taking his breath away. But hers more so. "Oxygen… really is becoming an issue…"

Wybie immediately let her go, and nervously fidgeted. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled. "Just… I just thought I'd n-nearly l-lost you, there."

Coraline chuckled feebly, and took his hand. She led him down the sloping roof, crouching low under the view of the windows. "Me? Never." She whispered. "Frankly I just wanna go home now."

"Agreed." He whispered back. "And… how do we d-do that?"

"Workin' on it." she hissed.

Coraline slid down a wooden pillar, ripping the paint off with her nails as she went. Wybie came down shortly after, and the cat leapt gracefully down from the porch. The three crept round into the inviting shadowed arch of the trees, and formed a tight, whispering circle. Coraline furrowed her brow, and touched her neck gingerly.

"Are you okay?" Wybie asked. He made to touch her wound, but she hastily drew back.

"I'm fine." She replied abruptly, still tenderly cradling her red-hot skin. "Do you… do you guys find it a little odd that the beldam hasn't come after us yet? Because breaking glass is pretty damn loud."

"She's merely humouring us," said the cat, his tail high in the air. "I haven't a doubt she heard the glass break, and that she heard you clamber along the roof. But she's in a mood for games, and soon enough she'll come after you."

Wybie cast a glance back at the Pink Palace, where the daunting gingerbread cottage was illuminated by bright, inviting, childish lights. "I don't exactly wanna stick around much longer."

"That's the problem." Coraline huffed. "She's got a temper, and we've gone and fanned at it. She'll get ruthless pretty damn soon. It's gonna be near impossible getting out."

The cat scaled the tree on which Coraline had been leaning, and looked down on the pair of children. "I suppose I could be of assistance," said he, "in locating this illusive key while you two find a means of escape. I'm confident you'll make a grand entrance." With that, his quivering tail disappeared into the shadows, and he was formless.

Wybie and Coraline stood in silence, as the wind rustled through the trees. "We could… we c-could always just walk right in and get out?" he suggested.

"She's basically a machine," replied Coraline. "She's too fast for us. We'd never get the key _and_ get it into the door at the same time."

"Huh." Wybie pondered for a moment, and then the clockworks of his brain lingered. "About this world…" he trailed.

"Yeah? What?" Coraline raised an eyebrow.

"I-it's just like home, right? Only better."

Coraline laughed dryly. "Supposedly."

Wybie nodded, and smiled. "Well, if sh-she's fast, we'll have to be faster. If she's using machinery, so do we."

"I don't get it." Coraline said. "Nice and slow, please."

But Wybie simply held out his hand, and gestured for her to take it. "C'mon. We don't have much time."

He looked at her pleadingly for a moment, and then she gave in and thrust her palm into his. "All right," she said. "But if we die – or my hair gets ruined – it's all your fault."

* * *

"You are insane." Breathed Coraline. "Completely, and utterly crazy. We're going to die."

"Aaahh, don't be so negative!" rallied Wybie. He stood, hands on hips, tall and proud, with a self-satisfied grin on his face. Behind him was a cool, shiny better-than-new version of his childhood means of transport (an old, rickety pedal-powered motor bike). It was fierce and black, with a gleaming exhaust pipe, and as he mounted it and ran his gloved hand along the handlebars his skin prickled up in anticipation. His old skull mask hung across the front. He whisked it up and slammed it on, and beckoned for Coraline to join him on the bike.

"Remember what happened last time I got on your bike?" teased Coraline. "Count 'em, eight stitches. Never, ever again."

"Come on, Jonesey! That was years ago!" came Wybie's muffled response from behind the grinning death mask. Coraline smiled tauntingly as he patted the empty space of leather saddle behind him. Coraline gave in, and swung herself onto the bike.

As she wound her arms around his midriff and leaned her chin on his shoulder, she purred softly, "Oh, Wybourne, you have the charm and grace of a three-legged sloth."

He laughed loudly as the engine roared into life, and revved soundly. It was like sitting atop a perfectly content, yet ever-fierce giant kitten. They pulled out of the workshop behind Wybie's house, and sped off into the trees.

Coraline shut her eyes and grinned contentedly as the wind swum through her hair, brushing the initial, throbbing heated pain from her neck. Wybie provided a warm, steady comfort that only just kept her grounded, while the exhilaration of impending danger and reckless driving whipped all around her. The bike weaved and dodged among the trees, its engine happily humming. The Pink Palace was steadily looming out of the shadows, and it erupted with violent, angered colours. Coraline smiled deviously as she tightened her grip on Wybie, winding her arms around him, working her fingers through the section of his jacket where the fabric intercepted to touch the warm, soft t-shirt underneath. They had a decent chance of winning this thing.

Wybie expertly skid the bike's back wheels to a halt at the steps up to the Pink Palace. The engine's voice lowered, and Wybie flipped up his mask. He looked at Coraline, who gazed at him from her comfy perch on his strong, confident shoulders.

"Y-you ready?" he asked.

"More than ever." She replied.

"Alright. Be ready to open the door."

"Roger. On three."

"One."

"Two."

And then together, with the bike providing the melody, the two let out a fierce and final cry, and accelerated the bike up the steps. Coraline let go of Wybie with her left hand, and just before they were about to crash through the door, turned the knob. The bike did the rest, pushing the door ajar and clear off its hinges, as the two of them roared down the hallway and burst through the doors of the living room. They skidded to a clean halt and burst out laughing, as the beldam stood, horrified, staring at them from the other side of the room.

"Just look at the mess you have made!" she roared. "And _you_!" she pointed at Coraline, who cracked her knuckles menacingly in Wybie's lap. "I'll teach you to disobey me, pulling a disappearing act _and_ leaving filthy marks on my nice clean carpet!"

Coraline laughed patronizingly, and tilted her neck so as it cracked appraisingly. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry!" she mused. All her previous fears, with Wybie so firmly pressed against her, were obliterated. "How about we come over there and give you a nice, big hug?"

Wybie acted accordingly, and left a big black tyre mark on the floor as they raced towards the beldam, whipping around her flailing, angry self. Coraline balled her hand up into a tight, confident fist, and struck the monster right in the midriff. She howled in pain, and Coraline shook her lightly-bleeding hand. They roared around the room, coming back in for a second hit, this time Wybie tugging off his helmet and slamming it into the beldam's face. She stumbled, dazed and disoriented, and Coraline took a hefty grip on her arm and tugged. The bike accelerated and dragged the mechanical spider with it, tripping over her many spindly legs and falling to the ground. The arm Coraline was holding detached in the process, simply popping out. Coraline shivered, and tossed it to the ground.

"You filthy brats!" the beldam shrieked. "I'll teach you! Come back here!"

They wilfully obliged, Wybie expertly manoeuvring the bike so as the back wheel narrowly missed the wall as they turned around. The arm dragged itself across the floor, fingers skittering on the wood. Before either of them could comprehend what had happened, Coraline and Wybie had catapulted off the bike and were slumped against the wall. The beldam's mechanical arm was completely broken in the bike's gears. The machine spluttered, the lights flickered, and it died.

The world spun and disintegrated around Coraline as she cradled her aching brain. Beneath her, the world was cracking and falling away, and everything becoming flat and less distinguishable. She supposed she was unconscious, or hallucinating; but no, everything was fading into black. Furniture, light, depth and form was all becoming indistinct and shadowy. And the beldam towered over her as this new, endless chasm came into focus.

The mechanical monster teetered on legs that were bent in odd places, and a single arm cradled the stump form which the other had disappeared. What remained of its face was twisted into a glassy, murderous snarl, covered in a shiny tar-like substance. Coraline scrambled back as far as she could, her dilated pupils desperately scanning the abyss for something, anything, which would aid her. The beldam drew nearer, towering over the girl, oozing and dripping and clanking like a broken clock.

The black glove that tapered up the beldam's singular arm began to slip lower, catching and ripping on the rusted, pointy needle joints. The shredded remains snaked lower, and fluttered to the ground where they were seemingly-absorbed by the gloom. The beldam drew its wrist to the slightly-too-long teeth that stuck awkwardly from behind ebony lips, and tugged. A long, black trail of thread drooped out, with a thin, silver finger dangling from the end. The beldam held it between her teeth and let her hand free, and slowly walked it up her cheek and to rest under her round button eye. The fingers snaked underneath and she winced, as a light snapping was heard. Speedily, she withdrew her fingers, and laid a palm on her cheek; the button dropped into it.

Coraline tried to scream as the monster leapt upon her, snarling and cackling as the girl struggled under her. The button was slammed down upon Coraline's eye, and she attempted to blink it off. But the beldam kept a firm, sharp hand upon it, her fingers piercing the soft skin around. Her teeth slowly let down the fine thread and upon it the needle, until it clicked lightly against the dull black surface of the plastic. Coraline kicked and flailed and shrieked coarsely, but she was overpowered.

Skin ripped and shredded as the hand slid from her face. The beldam's shrill, annoyed cry echoed around the dark space as she tumbled off of Coraline, and slammed into the floor. Coraline cradled her aching face, and wiped the blood from her eye. She sat up, and looked over. Wybie was kicking the beldam, over and over again, in the face. She was howling and clanking like an old toy as enraged assault after enraged assault descended upon her. The black tar blood oozed from every crack, every crevice, as she blindly kicked each of her six legs around the floor. Wybie jumped over each of them nimbly, and landed another kick upon the monster's midriff. A fresh spurt of blood burst from within, like a withered fruit expelling its juices, and coated his canvas sneaker. It was enough, just enough, to make him lose his footing.

Wybie's feet collapsed from underneath him, his body landing heavily on the ground. It was the beldam's turn for revenge, as each of its disfigured feet pierced the boy's stomach in quick succession. He groaned and screamed, a strangled caterwauling rocking the structure of the infinite black. Another strong kick to the stomach, and he was silenced. He lay still.

Coraline sat with one hand over her eye, as the world once again turned to haze. Blood stuck to her eyelashes, and when she blinked her vision was temporarily impaired, her eyes sealing shut. She didn't want to open them, because she knew they would instantly be met by reality. Reality was uncertain, and cold, and slow. But inside her head, there was always Wybie.

He'd called her Jonesy. He'd called her crazy. He'd called her Caroline, of all things. He walked as if an anvil was strapped to his shoulder, and his face was often the most adorable shade of pink. His presence was always accompanied by the spluttering, whirring sound of a makeshift motorbike, and he was so socially awkward it was sincerely cringe-worthy. She remembered the day he'd gotten his braces, and she had to pin him down in the mud and pry his mouth open with her fingers just to see them. She remembered when they'd gone to the cinema, and she'd said something – for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was – and he'd looked at her that way. _That_ way. She remembered the pictures they'd taken in that photo booth, and how she'd let him keep them. Twenty years later, they sat, in mint condition, upon an age-old bookshelf.

They were kids then, and they were kids now. She wasn't going to let him go.

It could have been the blood, or it could have been raw emotion, but as she propelled herself from the ground, Coraline saw everything in a vivid shade of red. Her mangled feet pounded against the barely-there ground as the beldam, not thirty feet away, drew up to her full height. The gap closed, and the monster grinned. And Coraline leapt then, and slammed the beast's head into the ground.

It screamed in agony as Coraline's neatly-kept blue nails sunk into paper-thin flesh, and clamped around the single eye she had left. Coraline tugged with all her might; the disc popped effortlessly away, and her arm shot back and flung it aside. She began to scratch and dig and pry at the haggard, menacing face as its muscles contracted and froze and jutted. She was animalistic, and certainly not herself. She relished the writhing, screaming agony of the murderous insect at her mercy. Her hands were smeared with thick, warm blood and it clogged every single pore on her body.

"_How do you like it!?_" Coraline hollered, her voice shrill and dripping with malice. "How does that feel? _My finger carving at your cheeks!_"

The beldam chuckled painfully, her exposed wiry tendons tautening and releasing. "Is that … any way… to treat your mother?"

Coraline screamed, and took a fresh gash into the face of the beldam. It fell apart, exposing old blackened bone. "_My_ mother lives in Australia with my dad!" she screamed, swiping at the face once again. "She gets annoyed when I wear my sneakers on the hardwood floors!"

The beldam grinned, gums bloodied and bare. Coraline thrust a fist into its few remaining teeth.

"_My_ mother called me a month ago to critique my book!" Coraline shut her eyes and pulled her lips tightly over her teeth as an eruption of black blood splattered across her face, neck and torso. "_My_ mother always buys lemonade when I visit because she knows how much I like it!" A sickening crack echoed around the cavern, and a less than human scream broke apart in the air. Coraline withdrew her fist from the beldam's punctured cranium, and with every syllable, blindly forced it down once more.

"My mother _loves_ me! _And she __**doesn't -**_" Crack. "_**Kill -**_ " Rip. "_**My -**_ " Scream. "_**Friends!**_" Silence.

Beneath her, the twisted form dissolved and burned away, disappearing into the black. Coraline sat alone in the dark, eyes glued closed, sobbing, her forearms completely immersed in that tar-like blood. She breathed in deep and slow, tear tracks melting away the stains that littered her cheeks. Everything was silent, save for her. So she opened her eyes.

A heavy black key sat in the pile of twining ash and blood on which Coraline was perched. Slowly, she crept her right hand up to it, and caressed the cold, smooth surface. She took it to her chest, and cleaned it on her sweater.

Suddenly, the space began to creak and rumble. She looked around frantically, stumbling to her feet, the button-topped key clamped tightly to her heart. A light in the dark, indistinct but there nonetheless, flitted about in the disintegrating black. She teetered towards it on her short, spindly legs, and as Coraline grew closer she observed the shape becoming more defined. It was Molly.

Her voice was fading with her image, flickering like a silver flame. She looked urgently at Coraline. "He's still alive." She said. "You guys have to go. This place is collapsing."

Coraline dived upon Wybie' and cradled his head in her arms. He was breathing; just barely. She looked up at Molly. "Aren't you coming too?" she yelled over the crescendo of toppling blackness.

Molly looked remorsefully over Coraline's shoulder, and took a step back. "My mommy isn't waiting for me anymore."

"What do you mean? She wants to know you're - "

" – It's before my time. I can't leave here. Please, you're still alive. Save your own soul."

Molly wasn't going to move. Coraline saw that. She hoisted Wybie carefully from the floor; he was heavy over her shoulder, but she could bare him. She looked around the untouched black space as she could feel it melting away. Then she looked frantically back at Molly.

"There's no door!" she hollered. "How do we get out?!"

Molly closed her eyes, and then pointed over Coraline's shoulder. Sure enough, there sat a little black door. It was unsupported and alone, and a faint white light glowed from behind it.

She dived for the door, scrambling on her knees with Wybie slung on her back. She fumbled with the key in the lock, each time she thrust the end it rebounded off the metal surrounding the hole.

"Come on, come on, _come on!_" Coraline felt the tears of frustration welling up, but she hastily blinked them back. She had to get out. At least, get Wybie out.

Finally, the key slid neatly through the hole. Coraline turned the key, and the door flung open. Behind her, the blackness had begun to fall away. Over her shoulder she watched shards of dark fall down and disintegrate in midair, and become nothing but clean, solid nothing. It wasn't white, or black, or endless. It was simply nothing. And in the middle of it all, was Molly.

"I can't hold this place up much longer!" the girl called. "Go now, hurry!"

Coraline nodded, and waved goodbye to Molly. She thought of her mother, and then what Molly had said about her. It puzzled her, but she wasn't in the mood for thinking. Blocking all slow, lateral thought from her consciousness, Coraline scooted into the hole dragging Wybie behind her. One arm was looped under both of his, while the other, plus her legs, worked overtime dragging him through. She clambered over him to pull the door shut, but it had already begun to fall away. So she kept going.

As she pulled his body along, screaming and huffing at the tiring, endless race, the tunnel began to fall away. It simply just dropped. It became less solid to the touch, and the endlessness was dizzying. Coraline felt herself growing weak, as everything in her head spun out of control. Soon she was pulling her own weight as well as Wybie's, and it was excruciating. But in the hazy, scarce vision she still held onto, she could see a grey light drawing ever closer. So she kept pulling, and pulling.

And just as the solidity fell from beneath her feet, Coraline and Wybie burst from the disintegrating corridor, and she gave way to the beckoning unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

Although she had come close to it on several occasions, Coraline Jones had never actually died. Therefore, she couldn't really fathom what being dead would feel like, but she felt certain that this was not it.

Firstly, she could feel her heart beating. In fact, that was just about all she could feel. It was slow and steady, ba-thump, ba-thump, and it weighed down on her like a million tonnes of liquid asphalt.

Secondly, it was sunny. Her eyes were closed, but the sun shone through, illuminating each and every vein that ran through her eyelid, casting a pink haze over her scattered mind.

And finally, her mother was calling to her. It wasn't a hallucination; she could tell. And it wasn't the Other Mother, either. The voice was not warm, or comforting. In fact it was the polar opposite. It was shrill and forceful. It was Coraline's real mother.

"Coraline! _Coraline!_" The voice had taken on physical from, and latched onto Coraline's shoulder. It shook her profusely.

The girl groaned, and rolled over where she lay. This had to be a dream, or some horrific illusion. She thrashed and mumbled against the force. "No… go away…"

"I might once you get up off the sofa and sweep up all this junk. Seriously, I don't mind you having slumber parties with your… _friend_… but can you not do them in _here_?"

Her mother stopped shaking, and her sneakers padded against the old floorboards. Coraline lay still, listening to her mother flit about the room. Her steps were determined and stressed, and her shallow breaths surfaced in between her annoyed rantings. She stopped moving.

"Coraline? Did you here a single word I said? Get up!"

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was white. It was warm and burning, and she shied away at first. Her eyelids fluttered against the beams that cascaded upon her face, until she drew her hand up as a visor and let her retinas adjust.

It was her house. Plainly, simply, it was hers. Sunlight filtered in from the windows about the room, and the cracked white plaster gathered at the base of the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The wallpaper was peeling, and slightly faded, and the doorframes were cracked and slightly misaligned. Grey floor boards ran the length of the room, and a dusty fireplace adorned with snow globes stood rigid against the wall.

Then, there was her mother. Mel Jones, mildly successful dedicated column writer, drummed her fingers across the smooth surface of the mantelpiece. Her fingernails were neatly kept, yet cut brutally short, and a thin black barrier of dirt lay underneath them. Her curvaceous body leaned against the wall, her acute features poised in a deadly irritated manner. Her short black hair hung limply around her face, part of her fringe tucked loosely behind one ear. Her lips were pale, her nails unpainted, and she wore nothing elegant nor extravagant. She was simply Mel, as Coraline remembered her from her childhood years. But that meant…

"What's the date?" Coraline sat bolt upright, cursing as she did so, for the pain that thundered down her spine caused a blinding flash of discomfort to rock her body. Mel stared at her for a moment, eyebrow raised, before she answered.

"It's not like you to have back pains," she began, "But that's what you get for sleeping on the sofa."

"What's the date?" Coraline demanded again, testing the strength of her limbs. There wasn't an awful lot.

Her mother's face turned to stone, before she peeled herself from the wall and headed across the room. "August twelve," she offered dryly.

"Hey… it's nearly my birthday," Coraline sighed with the first smile she had been able to muster in goodness-knows how long. She hesitantly stood up, using the back of the sofa for support. Uneasy step after uneasy step, she gradually regained movement in her body. Mel watched her, bewildered, before grabbing the broom from behind a stack of cardboard boxes and tossing it to Coraline.

"Welcome back to reality," she mused. "Good to see you've not got concussion. Seriously, I don't know what you kids do up here, but you sure as hell make enough noise."

"…Kids?" Coraline raised an eyebrow.

"And you can't say otherwise until you get your driver's licence," Mel replied, sauntering out into the hall. She paused, hand on the door frame, and looked over her shoulder at her daughter. "You've still got a good two weeks to go before you're thirteen. Technically, you're still a kid. Now, get that plaster swept up, and when you're done you can help your father in the garden. He bought a new truckload of tulips." Then she strolled out into the hall, and Coraline listened to her move down the stairs and into the kitchen below.

Thirteen… thirteen… did that mean… No, it couldn't. She was free; the blood of the beldam had dried on her hands. She'd hauled her ass up that corridor, and it had nearly drawn her in…

Coraline let the broom clatter to the floor, as she raced across the room to the opposite wall. A chest of drawers stood against it… Coraline remembered the day when her mother bought it from the furniture store, and she had to help lug it up the stairs. But that was ages ago… in her past.

She pressed her back to the bureau and began to nudge it across the floor, making sure her weight didn't tip it. She kept it going until she hit the opposite wall, and then her tensed, aching spine relaxed, and she returned to the now bare section of the room.

Kneeling down, she began to run her fingers against every inch, starting from the far left, working her way to the middle. The wallpaper was full of age-old ridges, and she could feel the bricks behind it. But no little door. No frame, no keyhole. It was gone.

Then Coraline caught sight of something. It was barely noticeable against the dimming pattern, but she could still see it clearly with that aid of warm summer daylight. A tiny little scorch mark, no bigger than her finger print, stood forever on the spot where the door once was. It was the shape of a keyhole. She ran her fingers across it; it was freezing to the touch. There was nothing beneath, nothing but solid brick.

The other world really was gone.

She lugged the empty chest of drawers back across the wall; she hadn't a portion of strength, and she silently cursed her child's arms for being so spindly. She gathered up the broom, and began to sweep up the cracked plaster and layers of dust on the floor; until something amongst the grey caught her eye.

It glistened and danced in the sunlight, and its light clambered across her face and sat against her eye, causing it to twitch. She hesitantly ambled towards it, crossing her feet over as she walked, watching the glimmering bead of light like a hawk. She drew close to the pile of dust in which it lay, and dug through it with her thumb and index finger, until her grip fell against the item. She closed her palm around it, and dirt spilled from the sides of her closed fist. Like a clam, she opened the shell her fingers had created and held its pearl to the sun. It was her engagement ring.

"Oh god… Robin…" she sighed, staring at the little golden circle in her hand. Inside the ring her name had been engraved, and its silky metal vines twisted around the base of a 20 carat monster of a diamond. She slipped it on her ring finger; the band was too big. It slid around her stick-like fingers and the weight of the stone drew toward the ground. So Coraline pocketed it, and ran out into the hall.

She thundered down the stairs, nostalgia overwhelming her as everything about the hallway brought back a barrage of childhood memories. The slick banister; she'd slid down it on many occasions, but never did again after she fell of and broke her wrist at fourteen. The door to the boiler room, the lock of which she'd hot glued and sealed closed after flicking the power switch off, to stop her father using his computer on a beautiful summer's day. That wicker chair against the base of the staircase that she'd never paid much attention to, until a hot night when she was sixteen that she'd sat on it and cried because Jonah McCormick broke up with her on the porch.

She stopped when she reached that chair, one foot still on the last stair, one hand on the banister, and the ring in the front pocket of her jeans. Something about those memories… they had a connection. This entire room was connected, a spider web of memories that was woven about the space. Coraline slowly let herself down, and came to rest upon the chair. She delved into her brain, sorting out the new form the old, looking for the link… until at last she found it, and Coraline remembered the most important thing in her life.

Wybie.

Suddenly the engagement ring in her pocket felt heavy as lead, and she felt guilty for keeping it with her, like it wasn't hers to keep. It held no meaning to her anymore; after all, she was a child, and the man who had gave it to her was a child too, probably playing baseball somewhere in Salem. After all that had happened, she still remembered that. It made Coraline chuckle meekly.

Slowly getting up from the chair, she lumbered into the kitchen, and sat down opposite her mother, who was typing like a machine with her left hand and sipping coffee with her right. Her hand paused over the keyboard like a claw in a crane machine, the white porcelain resting on her lips, as Mel stared her daughter down over the radiating blue screen of her laptop. "What?" she asked plainly.

"Do you think Dad would mind if I borrowed his computer for a few minutes?"

Mel resumed her typing, eyes narrowing. "What for?"

Coraline scooted her chair in, and rested her hands on the kitchen table. She ran her fingers along the grain of the wood, re-familiarising herself with the notches, gauges and paint stains that littered its once pristine surface. Funny, how something that she'd once deemed so insignificant like a round beech wood table could hold such great sentimental value. Before she was shackled to the chain of memories, she looked up, and led her brain back on topic.

"I need to email a friend," she said, "from Michigan. I promised I'd get back to her this weekend."

Coraline's mother hesitated for a moment, the hollow thundering across the keyboard ceasing. It resumed as she drew in breath. "If you break it, I'm taking money out of your bank account to replace it," she warned.

--

The computer hummed monotonously as Coraline sat down in front of the sleepy black screen. She shook the mouse until a faint click from the monitor brought the screen to life. The wallpaper, a family picture back at Pontiac Stadium, greeted her with three smiling faces. Coraline willed the pointer along the screen, down onto the toolbar and running left across the grey strip, until it hovered over the big blue W that symbolised Microsoft Word. She clicked it once, ever so slowly, and waited for the page to load. A blank white document splurged across the screen, with the little black marker blinking happily away in the top left. Coraline's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and, feeling the ring in her pocket, she took a deep breath and began to type.

_Robin,_

_I realise how utterly disturbing and weird this is, but you have to see this through. I'm not pulling a prank on you; I'm nobody you've ever met before, really. But I guess you can say that I'm psychic, because I bring a word of warning to you._

_On the 4__th__ of March in about 16 year's time, you may or may not meet a girl at a party in San Francisco. She may or may not be on a book tour, and I can guarantee you'll be there with your pompous artsy friends. The first thing you'll think to yourself when you notice her is how vibrant her dress is, and how much she doesn't suit the color purple. When you decide to tell her this over champagne on the balcony at four in the morning, she may or may not toss her drink in your face and go back inside to possibly tell everyone that you tried to feel her up. This is the moment when you fall in love with her._

_As awesome as this girl is, she will never love you back._

_Don't despair. You can still do all the things you were meant to in the future. You guys can go to the arcade and play Dance Dance Revolution until the clerks kick you off. You can go to the boardwalk and chase seagulls into the ocean. You can curl up on the sofa on Tuesdays for Crime Night on cable. Because you guys are the best of friends, alike in every way. Except, no matter how much you beg, she will never go see _Breaking Dawn_ with you. Because it sucks, Robin. It sucks._

_So please, if you ever encounter this girl, I beg you not to make a move. She's already in love, and always will be._

_Love from Coraline_.

The printer whirred into life as the small note slipped from between its cave of wonders, and Coraline snatched it up, blowing on the ink and gently pressing her lips to the warm paper. She smiled, and folded the paper into thirds, before slipping it into a crisp white envelope. She held it up to the light, restrained by the metal blinds. Slowly, carefully, as if it was made of glass, Coraline laid the package down on the windowsill. Her hand delved into her pocket, and clamped around the warm, smooth ring. And without ever uncurling her fingers and letting the light grace its surface, she slid it into the paper envelope, and sealed it.

Meandering down the driveway, Coraline slipped the letter into the mailbox, addressed to her former-future fiancé in Salem. She slipped it in the silver metal arch, and raised the little red flag, stepping back to reminisce. She turned on her heel, and looked back at the property, taking in everything she had once forgotten. The Pink Palace sign swayed forlornly in the hot wind, and the grey clouds drifted overhead. The paint on the clapboard that covered the house was peeling and flaking, and the roof dipped and chipped at regular intervals. The path was beaten, and the railings were crooked and rusty. The house looked almost derelict, save for the vibrant garden that was beginning to snake its way around the paths. Coraline sighed, and ambled back towards the house. It was good to be home.

The wrought iron gates stood open on the cobbles that trailed up to the elaborate garden. Coraline slipped through, pushing them slightly forward so they creaked agonizingly. The dismal grey path was swept, and the stone pillars and boxes lined with blooming flowers. Tulips burst from the black soil, and the makings of a great willow tree melted over the scene. Coraline's eyes scanned the area as she slowly traipsed over the bridge. Leaning on it, she surveyed her kingdom below, the grey and red and pink and yellow colliding in harmony. Her hazel doe-eyes swept and dipped across the garden, lingering on the old dead forest that lay behind the other gate. Her mind was lost in the aching dead bows, when all of a sudden she heard a voice she'd all but forgotten.

"Coraline!"

She whipped around out of her easy coma and stared at the boy who had addressed her. Wybie Lovat, awkward, lop-sided and slightly disproportionate, crept tentatively towards her from the other side of the garden. He grinned at her with his bashful crooked face.

Wybie leaned casually against the stone enclosure of flowers, folding his arms and crossing his legs. For a moment, it took Coraline's mind to tick over, to process the information that he was indeed standing there. And he was like her. Twelve. Well, thirteen, as she cursed him inwardly for his being that little bit older than her. One day in the future, Coraline remembered (or predicted – she couldn't tell any more), he would taunt her with his L-plates and ability to get into a restricted movie legally.

She smiled at Wybie then, and he pulled himself vertical, as did she. Coraline pulled the sleeves down on her sweater and hugged herself in the slightly cold morning air, before briskly beginning to walk towards the place where her friend was standing. In a few moments, she had broken out into a run, being able to take the distance between them no longer. The gap closed and he stretched out his arms, as she came rocketing towards him and her thin body clamped to his. His arms curled around her waist and her shoulders, and she cradled his neck in her freezing hands. She smiled into his shoulder, and they stood there, in the morning air, together.

--

"I'm starting to forget things now. Little things. Pieces of my life."

Days had passed since the ordeal, scars had healed and minds had stabilised. Coraline had eased back into the motions of life as a pre-pubescent girl in Ashville, and for the first time had left the Pink Palace with Wybie to sit in the photo booth in the arcade. They'd shut the curtains, piled in with a frozen yoghurt each, and sat curled on the touch screen. An angry group of girls chattered and hovered impatiently, hammering on the side of the booth. Coraline kicked back.

"I know what you mean," Wybie replied, absent-mindedly twirling his spork. "Kinda like… what happened in the twenty years to come never actually happened."

"Which, in all respects, is correct. _Shut up, you stupid tramps_!" Coraline was momentarily distracted by the group on the outside of the booth, as she pounded against the flimsy metal walls. They abruptly started nattering, before Coraline turned back to her conversation.

Wybie laughed. "So…" he continued, "Now that you have your whole life ahead of you… is there anything you want to do d-differently?"

"Oh, of course!" Coraline leapt from her seating position to stand opposite Wybie, and leaned back as she stared dazedly into space. "For starters, I'm not going out with Jonah McCormick, or Seth White…"

"What about Melissa Blakely?"

Coraline looked at Wybie confusedly for a moment, before her brain ticked over onto the newest slide of realization, and she chuckled, displaying a devious grin. "I think she's a keeper."

"You can't be serious," Wybie coughed as he choked on his frozen yoghurt. He toppled off his perch, lying face first on the sticky arcade carpet, still struggling to breathe. A mop of short blue hair loomed in front of his face, and two spindly arms pulled him to his knees.

"You right there, Wybourne?"

Once the children had finally died out of their laughing fit, they gathered their things and shipped out of the booth. Coraline grinned widely at the queen bee (who in the next four months would experience a humiliating defeat in a schoolyard punch-up with Coraline herself), and sauntered out into the open Ashland air.

"Enough of me…" Coraline said, hooking her arm around Wybie's, as the strolled down the street, "what about you? Is your future going to take a drastic turn in another direction?"

"Well…" Wybie thought for a moment. "I think… I'm gonna at least try to pass English,"

"Good call," Coraline grinned.

"And maybe I'll go to college, get a degree in something, renovate the house…"

Coraline stopped walking, yanking Wybie back on her arm. "I just had a thought," she raised her eyebrows.

"Wh-what?"

"Are you actually going to ask me to prom instead of make stupid comments about my dress when I get picked up?"

Wybie's gaze averted, flitting along the cobbles and their muddy sneakers. His face tingled as a very noticeable blush danced across his cheeks like a rash, and he began to stammer and trip. "Well… I don't… I mean, if you want… Jonah asked…." He stuttered as his thought train derailed.

Coraline cackled, and began to walk again, dragging the boy behind her. "Chill out dude, I was only winding you up."

"Huh," Wybie breathed.

"Oh, hey, I gotta go!" Coraline detached herself from Wybie, and dunked her empty yoghurt pot in a nearby trash can. "Mom wants me to help her move some stuff downstairs. You know what…" she stared at him for a few seconds, before tossing her burgundy bag over her shoulder, withdrawing a bus pass. "… I really missed this place. See you later."

He waved at her as she turned on her heel and took down a side street towards to nearest bus stop, her hair visible amongst the teeming streets. Finally, Coraline disappeared from view behind the chemist, and Wybie began to amble towards the lamppost to which he'd chained his bike.

--

In a mad dash to find his socks, Wybie had let the phone ring on for quite some time. It wasn't until his grandmother had called up the stairs for him to either pick it up or disconnect the thing, that he picked up. "H-hello?" he stuttered, catching the device between his shoulder and his ear as he tossed his clutter about the floor.

"Oh my god, it took you long enough!" it was Coraline. Wybie finally stopped rummaging, and held aloft his prized sock. Tugging it on, he caught hold of the phone again, bringing it to the other ear.

"Oh, hey," he breathed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Chewing noises could be heard from down the other end. "I was just wondering," said Coraline, her mouth full of something, "if you wanted to come over tonight? We're finished shifting the furniture around, and I actually get to pick whatever I want from the video store."

"Uh, sure. It's not like I have anything better to do." Wybie crossed the room and collapsed into his office chair, kicking his crumpled jacket off it as he did so. The material fell heavily to the floor, and something clunked down with it. Puzzled, Wybie poked it with his foot. There was something solid in there.

Coraline continued to chat away on the other line as Wybie slumped to the floor, and began to sift through the heavy black material until he found the internal pocket on his coat. Hesitantly shoving a hand in there, he withdrew two items: a rusty old photo frame, the exact same one standing empty on his desk, and an A3-sized book, about two and a half inches thick. Coraline's book.

As if it were contaminated, Wybie drew back the cover between his thumb and forefinger. The dirt-stained pages were slightly stuck together; with a ruler, he separated them. Thumbing through the contents, Wybie flipped the pages this way and that, back to front. The entire book was blank. There wasn't a single letter in there.

Then something caught his eye. Towards the beginning of the book, there was a small ink blot. Flicking back through the pages, Wybie crossed his legs and looked at the writing. The letters were stout and neatly-spaced, and slightly slanting to the right; it was written by a left-hander. Coraline was left-handed.

There was a furious scribble towards the middle of the page, as if she had scored something out. It wasn't particularly huge; about the length of a fingernail. The scribble was neat and straight, and the ink had slightly disintegrated the page. An arrow looped and snaked down the page to the very bottom, where it pointed to the small note she had left in Wybie's copy of the book. Squinting his eyes, he read her miniscule, brief lettering:

"_It shouldn't read 'Robin'. I'm just not that into him._

_PS: Learn to take a hint. _

_Love, Coraline."_

"… And then when I picked the olive up I was like, awh _hell_ no, I am _not_ eating that… Wybie, are you listening?"

Wybie snapped back into reality, as the girls high-pitched, snarky voice prodded him from the receiver. He stared momentarily at her penmanship, and then cast his gaze to the photographs. Then remembered he was supposed to talk. "Uh… yeah, r-right. Tonight sounds awesome." Wybie bit his lip as the evil puberty monster yanked at his vocal chords, sending him just an octave higher.

Silence was on the other end for a moment, before Coraline cleared her throat. "And that's all I needed to hear. See you at seven?"

"Yup."

"Great." The phone crackled for a moment, as she placed it back in the cradle. Wybie listened to it beep for a moment, before pressing the big red button, and slinging his own phone down, flopping back onto his bed with a ridiculous grin spread across his face.

--

"Hah. I was wondering when you'd show up." Coraline strode over to her bedroom window and unhooked the latch, and let the cat slip inside. He sat tall and purring, staring up at her with an eased, withered expression. "Gosh, you're looking old," she mused, picking the animal up and scratching behind it behind its ears. Cat's brow furrowed momentarily, but it continued to purr nonetheless.

Coraline and the cat crossed the room to her bed, upon which they both curled up. Coraline crossed her legs and leaned against the wall, the cat settling down in her lap as she glanced about the place. Her favourite picture still stood on the bedside table, all her toys were neatly tucked away, and the sky outside had begun to break out in ferocious grey clouds. Her eyes wandered down to the cat, which was beginning to dose off. She continued to stroke it.

"I suppose now… now that she's gone you'll be going too…" she whispered. The cat's ear's pricked up, but it did not move. Coraline continued to ramble. "Everything's gonna be so different now… I mean, I have the power to change everything. I could choose not to publish me book, I could stay in Oregon my whole life… I wanted adventure, and I got it. But everything comes back to the same place. You know?"

Both Coraline and the cat let out a surprised yelp when Coraline's bedroom door swung open, to reveal a fuming Mel Jones, tapping her foot impatiently. The cat jumped off the bed, and slinked back out the window. Both Jones women watched it go, before returning their gaze back to each other. Mel Jones drew in a breath.

"I thought I told you to wash the dishes."

Coraline sighed, and rolled over to pick up a book on her bedside table. "I'm going to do them, I swear."

"That doesn't look like washing dishes," Mel said, striding over to where Coraline was sitting and pulling the book from her grasp. Coraline scowled. "I've asked nicely. Three hours ago. Now get downstairs and clean up or you're not coming to the video store. Hustle!"

Coraline unfolded herself, and pushed past her mother to thunder irritatingly down the stairs, making each thud more dramatic than the next. Finally, she pranced into the kitchen and begun to run the tap, until the water heated up and she thrust the plug in. Gazing out the window onto the garden, the glass becoming plastered with condensation, she spoke idly to herself.

"Here we go again."


End file.
